All Aboard the Hogwarts Express
by RainThestral93
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts for their 8th Year in order to complete their NEWTs, Hermione, Ron and Harry's friendship is tested by the strain of Ron and Hermione's breakup. It seems to Hermione that everyone is certain of their future - and for once Hermione finds herself struggling when it comes to realising what she wants. But what on earth does Draco Malfoy have to do with anything?
1. Boarding the Train for the last time

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N: **This is my first attempt at a Harry Potter FanFiction. It's going to be a pretty long story when I've done with it. But I'm going to need a bit of help an encouragement along the way. Reviews are always lovely, and I'm not against criticism either. Let me know what you think – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter One: Boarding the Train for the Last Time**

Hermione sighed, as she made a precarious effort to balance Crookshank's cage on top of her Hogwarts Suitcase, listening to Ron and Harry bickering about seats on the train. Things hadn't been the same between the three of them since she'd decided to break things off with Ron during the summer holidays at the Burrow – Ron was still nursing a grudge against her, even if he pretended to act fine around everyone else.

The reality was that Ron was too much of a "flaunt what you have" kind of guy – whereas Hermione preferred the quiet intimacy of her own head, hating it when other people knew about her private life. That was probably one of the reasons that she hated Rita Skeeter, so much, Hermione mused. The last thing she had needed was to walk down to breakfast one morning at the Burrow and hear Ron describing his sex life in great detail to Fred, George and Harry, who all hadn't shut up about it for a long while afterwards – that had probably been the straw that broke the camel's back, as the expression went. A half smile flitted across her face – at least Mrs Weasley hadn't caught onto the never ending stream of jokes of how Ron had finally convinced Hermione to put out. Now that _would _have been cringe worthy. But that hadn't been the only problem, with their relationship.

Hermione had found it difficult, during the summer at the Burrow, when Harry and Ginny had talked of themselves in the future tense – married, with kids. She just couldn't see herself as a stay at home house wife, spewing out babies by the bucket load, whilst Ron went to work and put food on the table. That wasn't her, she groaned. She had aspirations – things she wanted to do; things she wanted to be. A family, or even the idea of it, would only tie her down, and it was this sad realisation that she figured her and Ron wouldn't work in the long term. Besides, it didn't help that Ron had an instinctive way of flirting with everything that had two X chromosomes – she had watched as his eyes had followed Fleur Delacour around the room when the newlyweds had visited the Burrow in the summer. She rolled her eyes, the reality was Ron and she had been caught up in the final battle – embarking on a relationship that neither of them had put much consideration into at the time. Sure, the attention had been nice at the time, but now all it had managed to do was create a laceration in their friendship.

Managing a feeble but self-assuring smile, Hermione told herself that this year, as they returned to Hogwarts to finish their NEWTS – something that they'd not had the chance to do, because they were busy hunting Horcruxes in order to defeat Voldemort – she would find time to fix this laceration, and the Golden Trio would be one, once again.

The piercing whistle of the Hogwarts Express jolted Hermione to attention – and in a final flurry of activity, her luggage was loaded onto the train, and she bade Mrs Weasley farewell with a bone crushing hug – the woman's warmth enveloping Hermione in such a way that it made her miss her own parents – who were currently residing in Australia with no idea that they'd ever had a daughter.

Harry smiled at Hermione, as she finally escaped from Molly's embrace, "Just think," he began, getting Ron's attention too, "This is the last time we'll ever board the Hogwarts Express. Kind of sad, don't you think?"  
Hermione returned the grin, linking Harry's arm in her own, "Yeah I guess... but at the same time everything has to come to an end sometimes."

"Oh shut up, you two," Ron groaned, a grin splayed across his freckle-spattered face. "You two are always so bloody thoughtful – who cares! Let's just get on the train before it leaves without us!"

The trio chuckled, but did as Ron said, and clambered onto the train – which now had an extra carriage in order to accommodate the new "Eighth Years". Professor McGonagall – now Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – had declared that any students that had missed their studies as a consequence of Lord Voldemort were welcome to return to the school and complete their exams. A very generous gesture, Hermione mused, but also rather crucial. People wouldn't get very far in the Wizarding World of work without valid NEWTS – so it was with enthusiasm Hermione looked forward to resuming her studies.

There was the question, however, of where the extra students would be boarded – after all, whilst there had been many casualties in the Final Battle – there was still the issue of space. It was on this matter that the trio debated as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the station for the last time.

"Where d'you think we'll be sleeping," Ron asked, biting the head off a Chocolate Frog as he did so. "I can't imagine we'll be in the Gryffindor common rooms – there won't be any space, what with all the First Years."

"Hmm," Hermione wondered. "They could probably turn the Divination tower into living space – it's not as if Divination is going to get anyone anywhere, anyway!" The trio laughed – Hermione's detest for Professor Trelawney's subject was a running joke between the year groups. The one subject Hermione ceased to be good at – with the exception of flying – meant that she had hated the subject from the very beginning.

Once the laughing had subsided, Harry mused pensively. "They could always have converted Myrtle's bathroom – it's not as if it's in use, anyway. Besides, the Chamber of Secrets was cleared out by the Ministry during the summer – I heard your parents talking about it, Ron." Hermione nodded, and Ron seemed too engaged in a box of Bertie Bott's Beans to really pay attention.

"Of course," Hermione agreed, "I bet they've converted Myrtle's bathroom and the Chamber to accommodate us all. I wonder – d'you think they'll be separate areas for all the houses?" Harry shook his head, but Hermione continued anyway. "Who's returning, anyway? There are us three, Neville, Luna, Dean, Padma and Parvati, Lavender –"When she said Lavender's name she spat it rather forcefully, and Ron snapped to attention. Rolling her eyes, Hermione continued. "There's also Cho, Cormac, Lee, Seamus, Susan Katie ... what about the Slytherins?"

Harry shuddered – the very thought of the children of Death Eater's who'd pursued him and his friends still brought a chill to his bones, and he wondered who would dare return to Hogwarts and face the persecution that no doubt would face them. That was the problem, he thought to himself, when your family picked the wrong side to fight for. In answer to Hermione's question, Harry retorted "Well Crabbe's dead, and I heard Malfoy-"

"– the bastard", Ron interjected, earning a reproachful look from both Harry and Hermione.

"Is being sent back against his wishes by his mother... after they gave Lucius the Dementor's kiss, she's beside herself with grief, and wants him to get his NEWTS so he can go about handling the family business." Hermione finished.

Harry and Ron looked at her in stunned silence. "What?" She exclaimed.

"How the hell did you know all that," Ron asked a bemused look on his face.

"It's called reading, guys," Hermione rolled her eyes. "You'd know too if you read the Daily Prophet."

Harry continued, slightly shaken at the interruption. "Anyway, not so many Slytherins are coming back to Hogwarts this year. That's got to be one good thing that came from the Battle," Harry chuckled.

"No Slytherin girls, either, I don't think. Looks like the Slytherins are going to have to come across their blood issues, if any of them want girlfriends," Ron chipped in, his mouth full of a jelly snake. That last comment made Hermione retreat into silence, as she gazed out of the train window; her breath steaming up the glass.

Why did everything boys say always come down to the opposite sex?


	2. Somebody's Turned Over a New Leaf

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N: **So they've arrived at Hogwarts. What's going to be different about the Golden Trio's last year at Hogwarts, and what could these changes mean? Please read and review – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Two: Somebody's turned over a New Leaf**

As they pulled into Hogsmeade, the general atmosphere was a lot quieter than usual. The final battle before the summer had taken its toll on everyone, and there were signs of the troubles the students had endured when you looked into their eyes – some peoples' eyes appeared glassed over, and they had vacant stares on their faces, whereas others had a firm, steadfast resolve painted on their faces; as if they were enduring an on-going battle with themselves to be strong and get on with life, despite all the hardships they'd endured. Hermione sighed to herself; she could already tell that things wouldn't be the same this year. There was no on-going mystery – no evil dark wizard who was trying to kill her friends – so instead she only had her exams and her future to focus on.

Her future.

Those two words scared her immensely – more than the prospect of duelling a death eater or two, or killing a Horcrux ever had – because Hermione Granger, for once, had no idea what she wanted to do.

As the Golden trio road up to the castle in the Thestral-drawn carriages, they smiled sadly at the wondrous expressions on the other student's faces, which were now seeing the winged Thestrals for the first time. Harry broached the very subject that had been worrying Hermione, first. "What are we going to do, you know," he began, "after this year is over? Once we've got our exams?"

Ron stared off into the distance for a moment, in a daydream, before answering Harry. "I'm going to try out for Keeper for Chudley Cannons, mate," he grinned and Harry and Hermione smiled wanly at him. Neither of them wanted to break it to him that he was hardly the best keeper they'd ever seen, but, being Ron's best friends, they kept quiet. Then again, Hermione mused, The Chudley Cannons were hardly the best team, so maybe Ron _would_ make the team. "You?" Ron asked, to Harry and Hermione. Shrugging, Hermione let Harry answer, first.

"I don't know. Defence Against the Dark Arts has always been my best subject, but I think if I took the teaching position at Hogwarts I'd be dead before I knew it – seems like the position is jinxed! Maybe an Auror," Harry suggested, and he was met with wild nods of agreement from Ron and Hermione. Harry would make a good Auror, Hermione thought to herself. He had the courage, the experience and also the wit that would make catching bad wizards an easy feat.

It was now Hermione's turn. "Erm I'm not too sure," she began, and Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

"Come on Hermione, you're the cleverest witch I know, and you don't _know?_" Ron exclaimed, and Harry nodded in agreement.

"It's not that... it's just I've never thought about it before," Hermione continued. "I mean I've always been so busy thinking about Voldemort, and what our next move would be, that I've never properly sat down and thought about a career path. But I guess I would like to be Mediwitch, or teach Transfiguration."

Harry and Ron smiled at Hermione, who, with a shrug of her shoulders turned and surveyed the great castle that stood before them; the damage that had been done to it in the final battle repaired, and with a few modifications at that. Even from as far away as the carriages were, Hermione could already see the extra bulges, which she presumed were either extra classrooms or living quarters for this year's extended intake of students.

When the carriages finally pulled up to the school, children and young adults milled around hugging and nattering to those they hadn't seen since the battle – exchanging stories of holidays abroad and gossip. The sight of unity brought a smile to Hermione's face, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and surveyed as Harry was engulfed by a sea of admirers – Ron, desperately trailing behind in a search for at least some glory.

A tall, dark haired boy with a scar trailing down from his hairline turned and grinned in recognition when he saw Hermione, and enveloped her in a bone crushing hug. It took Hermione a few extra seconds to recognise the gangly youth as Neville – and for the first time in ages, a broad grin spread across her face. Neville was one of the people who had grown up, since the battle – his shoulders now broader, his face looking slightly careworn and weather beaten, and his voice was now deep and clear rather than the squeaky and timid first-year Neville Longbottom she'd grown to know and love. Luna milled over to the group, a pink star hanging on a rainbow coloured thread around her neck, and she smiled warmly at Hermione, before reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss Neville, who returned the gesture passionately, as he locked lips with Luna, an arm snaking around her waist.

Hermione's grin fell as she walked away from the embracing couple. It seemed like she truly would be forever alone, at this rate, as Ron's old time lover, Lavender simpered after him, whilst he ignored her, still looking for some glory from Harry's admirers. Ginny was gazing fondly at Harry, but he hadn't seen her yet, Hermione noticed, from where she was stood at the top of the steps. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Hermione folded her robes – which she has been surprised to find still fitted her, from last term – beneath her, as she sat down on the step and opened her book to where she had left off.

Over the years, Hermione had become accomplished at the art of blocking out noise – so, ignoring the excited chatter and general static noise that surrounded her, Hermione let the crisp cream pages of her latest novel engulf her. It was a good book – a Muggle book, for a change, one she'd bought at Kings Cross before they left for Hogwarts – and was the tale of Bella Swan, a girl in love with a vampire. It was completely devoid from the truth, but nevertheless it made an interesting read. So interesting, in fact, that is took the blonde boy who stood over Hermione several attempts to catch her attention.

When he finally did, with a loud clearing of his throat, Hermione looked up in surprise, and nearly dropped her crisp new copy of _Twilight._ "Malfoy?" She asked, her voice cracking slightly in shock at the fact that he seemed to be acknowledging her existence for the first time in ages.

"Yes, that would be me," he drawled, which would have been sarcastic – Hermione wasn't too sure – before he continued. "D'you mind if I join you?" He asked, gesturing to the stone step beside her. Her eyes widened in shock – after everything, did he seriously think he could waltz in as if he'd never supported the evil wizard who'd been trying to kill her and her friends? But then Hermione felt a twinge of sympathy as she recalled the Prophet article she'd read – the one regarding Lucius Malfoy and his trial, and finally the Dementors administrating the kiss of death. She nodded, and Malfoy sat down beside her, careful, she noted, not to touch her.

He clearly still had blood issues, she mused. But who could blame him, she thought, with parents like his. "How was your summer?" He asked, seemingly genuinely interested. Hermione turned to regard him suspiciously before replying.

"Same old, same old. My parents are in Australia with no recollection of ever having a daughter, my best friends are basking in the glory that comes with winning a war, whilst I've been trying to finish this book except I keep getting interrupted," Hermione gestured to the book in her hands.

"Twilight?" Malfoy smirked.

Hermione threw him a warning look. "Yes, Twilight. What's wrong with it?" Hermione asked the tone in her voice a little harsh, as if she was testing this new found civility.

"Nothing," Malfoy grinned, "I'd just never pegged you as an unrealistic teen-trashy romance kind of girl," he smirked. Hermione's mouth dropped slightly, before she realised he had a point. Before, she'd never have pegged herself as that kind of a girl, either. It seemed she'd become increasingly desperate and lovesick after her break up with Ron – trading her usual factual history books for teen fiction. She grinned, and replied to Malfoy.

"It's not _totally_ unrealistic," she began, but she was met with a raised eyebrow from Malfoy.

"It's about a vampire who kills animals and sparkles," Malfoy pointed out, a smirk on his face.

"You've read it?" Hermione asked, shocked. He shrugged, looking kind of sheepish.

"I found myself with a lot of spare time during the summer holidays," he explained. He didn't have to say, but Hermione knew he was alluding to his father's death, and his mother's breakdown. "I spent a lot of time in the Muggle part of London during the summer – and it seemed that Meyer's series were all that Muggle bookshops were stocking, so of course I thought I'd see if it was everything it was cut out to be." Hermione gaped, shocked at how honest and _nice_ Malfoy was being, but he continued, regardless of her shock. "I could ruin the end for you, but I won't, seeing as I've meant to turn over a new leaf."

"Umm... thanks?" Hermione said, the cogs in her brain turning at a million miles an hour. This whole thing was so confusing. What was Draco Malfoy doing, being so nice to someone like her? Hermione Granger, who he'd always pointed out, was a filthy little Mudblood... she shook it off, as Draco threw her a broad grin.

When Hermione thought about it, she could see why Draco had his reputation with the girls of Slytherin for being somewhat of a ladies' man – he actually could hold an intelligent conversation, and he wasn't too bad on the eyes either. He'd dropped the habit of slicking his hair back with that preposterous gel, Hermione noted, and instead his blond locks fell slightly in his eyes, and he kept flicking them to the side. His grey eyes, although they still held a cold, hard edge, seemed warmer; like a block of ice that was finally melting after a cold, long winter.

Snap out of it, Hermione told herself, this is Malfoy we're talking about. He's one of the reasons that so many of her friends were now lying motionless in their graves. But a little part of her niggled away at her, trying earnestly to believe what Malfoy had told her; that he'd turned over a new leaf.

"Don't mention it, Granger," Malfoy chuckled, as he picked himself up, dusting off his robes. "Unfortunately, whilst I'd love to stay and keep you company whilst all of these imbeciles fulfil their embraces which would make anyone think they haven't seen each other in ten years, I have to go and take my luggage to my room. See you later," he smiled, as he turned on his heels and walked off into the courtyard, where a pile of luggage was growing.

Hermione sat in stunned silence, for a few moments, before she had the composure to turn back to the crisp pages of her novel.

But try as she might, after that experience with Malfoy, she could no longer see Edward Cullen in the swoony teenage heart throb way that was surely intended; instead all she could see was a sparkling pathetic wimp who preferred animals to humans. She groaned, slamming the book shut and putting it back in her back.

Leaning back against the cool brick of the castle, once more surveying the sea of students, Hermione thought about the year ahead. Maybe it really _would_ be different this year, she thought.


	3. You Can't Just Wipe the Slate Clean

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** What do you guys think of reformed Draco? Let me know – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Three: You Can't Just Wipe the Slate Clean**

Looking into the courtyard, she could see that Malfoy had bent down to tie his laces, and hadn't yet taken to his luggage anywhere. She stood up, brushing her robes down, removing invisible dirt, shoved _Twilight_ into her over-stuffed bag, and walked briskly to catch up with Malfoy, who'd now stood up and was making his exit.

"Wait," she began. "Where are you taking your bags? We don't know where our common rooms are yet," she exclaimed, and a thoughtful expression flitted across Malfoy's face.

"You're right, I don't! How silly of me. Well in that case, I can keep you company a bit longer." He threw her a wry grin, and Hermione found herself smiling in spite of everything that had ever occurred between the blonde-haired Slytherin and herself.

What would Ron and Harry say if they thought she was 'fraternizing with the enemy?' She pushed the thought aside, as a wave of thought hit her. Before her stood Draco Malfoy. A person, she thought, who before the Final Battle, she'd happily have punched, like she had back in their third year. He was a person who she could honestly say she hated; he was spineless, evil and there was nothing redeemable about him. But ever since that day, in Malfoy manor, when he'd hesitated, and not given the Golden trio's presence away, she wasn't so sure. He'd done some terrible things, she thought, but then again his circumstances weren't exactly easy. When the Dark Lord is residing in your family's house, your father is a Death eater, and you have the expectation hanging over your head of following in his footsteps, there isn't much you could do to resist. It was with this realisation, that it dawned on Hermione that Draco could have perhaps just been born into the wrong family, in the wrong circumstances, at the wrong time.

That wasn't to say she was wiping his slate clean. Heck, Malfoy had done things that Hermione didn't even want to think about; things so dark and evil that they were beyond the imagination of someone even as experienced in pain and suffering as Hermione. But she was willing to be lenient; give him a chance. She'd see if Malfoy's seemingly new outlook on life lasted long enough to be considered a different person – but she wouldn't waste her time with him, either. She would be civil, as she was to the rest of the Slytherins. She didn't particularly like any of them, but at the same time she didn't openly share her distaste, like Ron or Harry did.

"Ron and Harry," she began, noticing the slight flicker of something cross Malfoy's face, as she continued, "have a theory that they will have converted the abandoned girl's bathroom for the eighth years sleeping quarters. What do you think?" She was struggling to think of a conversation that didn't reopen old wounds – but she realised that through discussing the changes to Hogwarts, she opened the door to why the changes were needed, in the first place. If it hadn't been for the destruction that the final battle had caused, they wouldn't be having this conversation. It was awkward, talking to a person who had fought for the opposing side – the losing side – about such matters, but Malfoy shrugged it off.

"Yes," Malfoy said, nonchalantly, gazing up at the magnificent castle. "That makes sense. Although the girl's bathroom doesn't hold particularly _fond_ memories for me." Hermione winced as she thought about Harry's incident with _Sectumsempra_, the spell from Snape's old potions book that had severely injured Malfoy; nearly killed him, in fact. Draco's face showed a split second of pain, at the memory, before he composed himself. The strained conversation, that it had become, was saved however, by none other than Professor McGonagall, who had come into the courtyard and was using her wand to amplify her voice, as she asked to speak to all the eighth years in the Great Hall.

Draco and Hermione made their way silently, Hermione breaking away from the grey eyed Slytherin, and re-joining the throng of Gryffindors, including Harry and Ron who acknowledged her presence with a grin, immediately drawing her into their conversation. Hermione didn't notice Malfoy's sad smile, as he made his way to stand on the outskirts of the group of students. An outsider. He was alone.

The chatter soon subsided, when Professor McGonagall asked for quiet. She began a list of house-keeping; trailing of the previous year's rules – no going in the Forbidden Forest without permission from a member of staff; no fighting in the corridors; duelling and so forth. Then it dawned on Hermione; Professor McGonagall was doing everything that Dumbledore had done before he died, at the start of time. It made sense, as Professor McGonagall was one of Hogwarts most talented, loyal and oldest teachers – but it was with a wry smile that Hermione realised that Professor McGonagall was the first female Headmistress of Hogwarts; and a fine one she would be, Hermione mused.

"Now," Professor McGonagall continued, interrupting Hermione from her momentary lapse in concentration, "As you are all aware, you have all returned to complete your NEWTs, as last year's circumstances didn't enable you all to do so and fulfil your full potential. Many of you were absent," she paused, looking pointedly at Hermione and Ron and Harry, who stood either side of her, "and many of you were _preoccupied._" Hermione saw grins flit across the remaining members of the DA, and an angry glare directed towards the head teacher, coming from Malfoy's direction.

"But due to this year's increased intake of students, I ask you to bear with the teaching staff this year, and be as understanding as possible. There will be mix ups and confusion, I assure you, but I will be doing my best to minimise this. Provisions have been made, in the castle, to accommodate more students. The girl's bathroom, on the second floor; which many of you will know as the residence of Moaning Myrtle, one of the castles ghosts, has been converted to a common room."

Grins crossed Harry and Ron's faces, and their pride in being right made Hermione smile too. "However," Professor McGonagall continued, "due to the number of students returning – only a handful of the original year group – it has been decided that whilst you will remain loyal to the houses you were first allocated when you arrived at Hogwarts, there will be only one communal common room. One house, unified, if you will. The password for the common room will be 'muggle'" – Hermione dared dart a look at Malfoy's face at this point. It remained expressionless, and this surprised Hermione. Normally he couldn't help but curl his lip at the word.

"There have been enchantments placed on the room to ensure that only 8th years may enter it. You are still permitted to visit your previous common rooms, as I understand that many of you have friends in the lower years." It took a moment for the murmurs of indignation to die down, but when they did – after a stern look from the bespectacled lady standing on the podium – Professor McGonagall continued.  
"I have been asked to inform students that because you are all now of legal age, I cannot force this rule upon you," Hermione saw a blush colour the teachers face slightly, and this made her curious, "I would ask you to refrain from physical relations between each other –"there was a titter amongst the boys at this point, and Hermione tutted. Boys were so immature, she thought. "But I do understand that you have hormones and urges which need to be _dealt with._" By now, Professor McGonagall had turned as red as beetroot, and Hermione felt sorry for the old witch. "All I'm asking is that you keep your business to yourself, and don't let it come between you and achieving the best grades you can. That is all I have to say on the matter."

The crowd of students began shuffling, as if to leave. Finally, Professor McGonagall added "Oh, and Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy, you will be our head boy and girl this year. I wish to speak to you alone, now, please."

Hermione couldn't help but let a huge grin consume her face – to be Head Girl of Hogwarts was an honour that Hermione had dreamt of, ever since her first day at Hogwarts – and she beamed ecstatically as her Gryffindor co-students congratulated her, and Harry and Ron sang her praises. As the throng of students left the Great Hall, Hermione couldn't help but notice out of the corner of her eye; there was nobody congratulating Malfoy.


	4. I Don't Like the Sound of That

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** I hope it's believable that Hermione and Malfoy are Head Boy and Girl. I mean Dumbledore was always for house unity and they _are _the two smartest students in the school. Go figure. Let me know what you think, reviews are lovely – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Four: I Don't Like the Sound of That**

The great hall was incredibly different now that there were only three people in there; and as Hermione and Malfoy advanced towards Professor McGonagall so that they could hear her without her having to shout, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little insignificant in this vast space.

"I hope you are aware that is it a great privilege and honour to be chosen as Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry," Professor McGonagall began, "And I hope you both appreciate the reasons why you two have been selected. Miss Granger; you have shown your bravery in our hours of need, you have experience and leadership abilities. You are able to differentiate between right and wrong – even though you have not always made the right choices – and I believe that your sense and knowledge will enable you to do well. Mr Malfoy, although you have done many bad things in your life, you have chosen to return to Hogwarts and face your enemies; and to do that requires a great deal of bravery. I will ensure that differences aside, your classmates are sure to treat you with the respect any of them deserves. You too, are a bright and capable student like Miss Granger, here, and I hope that you are able to put your differences aside and work alongside each other, which I am sure you will." Here she paused to look sternly over the top of her spectacles.

"Furthermore, as you know, the Head Boy & Girl has a dorm away from the other students, and this year, I ask you to keep the rule that your quarters are for you and you alone. The other students are residing in Myrtle's bathroom, which has been converted. This has included and excavation of The Chamber of Secrets, which no longer exists. You may visit your friends in their dormitory – but only on days off. Your quarters have been allocated in the Room of requirement; which has miraculously repaired itself after the damage done during the war."

Here both Malfoy and Hermione shuddered at the thought of the fiend –fyre that had destroyed the diadem, and nearly killed Malfoy, during the battle. McGonagall didn't notice their reactions and continued. "You will be able to access your dormitory like you would the Room of Requirement – you both know where it is – and all you will have to do is think "I need our dormitory" and you will be granted immediate access. No other students will be able to access the Room of Requirement this year, and I shall make it apparent that it was damaged and is no longer accessible to students. Is that clear?"

Both Hermione and Malfoy nodded. "Professor, so do we not need a password to our dormitory, then?" Hermione enquired.

"No, you shall not. The room has been enchanted to let only yourself and Mr Malfoy in – which is why, I am afraid, you shall not be able to take any friends into your dormitory. I shall think you will find everything you will require has been provided – the room, as you know, is very good at adhering to one's needs."

Hermione smiled as she recalled the Golden Trio's days where they congregated in the room, battling and duelling under the name of the DA. That had been fun, she mused, but now that Voldemort was gone, they had no need to continue practicing. Just as well, she thought – this year everyone needed to knuckle down and get on with their NEWTs!

"In addition," McGonagall added, "Now that your dorm has been discussed, I wish you to alert your fellow students that a new course has been created this year – Guidance & Counselling – as a result of some of the traumas that the students of Hogwarts have experienced. This will be compulsory for all students over the age of 16, and will take place for two hours a week. You shall receive details about the whereabouts of the class and time schedule on your timetables, but I wish to prepare the students. Many of them will not react fondly to the class, but I wish for you to assure them that it will do them the world of good in the long run. The teacher, Professor Duxhominem will be arriving tonight, where I shall introduce her to the school. That shall be all." With a curt nod, Professor McGonagall asked, "Have you any questions?"

"Will we receive homework, from this extra course, Professor?" Hermione asked anxiously, worried about the amount of work she would have to deal with, anyway. "It's just –"the teacher cut her off with a smile. After all, Professor McGonagall was very admiring of Hermione's eagerness and work ethic.

"I assume so, Miss Granger, I am afraid," she smiled sympathetically at the look of panic on the witch's face, "But it won't be very taxing and I'm sure Professor Duxhominem will be more than understanding of your predicament."

Hermione shrugged. "Anything else?" When Hermione and Malfoy shook their heads, she dismissed them. It was after they were walking away that Professor McGonagall called after her, "Don't overwork yourself this year, Miss Granger, please," and Hermione smiled and called back, "I'll do my best!"

The walk to the Seventh floor didn't take long, as Hermione matched Malfoy's long strides easily – she'd always been a fast walker; something which Ron and Harry berated her for on a regular basis. It was nice not having to slow her pace for a change – and in all honesty, Hermione was looking forward to surveying her new Dormitory.

"How are you going to survive a whole year of me?" Malfoy jibed, "Just me and you in a room ... with none of your friends and none of mine allowed in. It's going to fun," he said with a wink, which caused Hermione to roll her eyes.

"I expect I'll survive. You'll keep to yourself and I'll keep to myself," Hermione pointed out. "And besides, you don't have any friends to bring back to your dormitory with you, anyway." It slipped out, and once she said it, she regretted it deeply from the look on Malfoy's face. Oops. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean that," she tried to amend, but it was too late. The damage was done, and Malfoy stormed ahead.

When Hermione finally caught up with him, he was gazing at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. "D'you think we still have to walk past it three times to get in? Or can we just think 'dormitory' like McGonagall said, and get in?" Draco asked her, his tone harsh.

"I don't know," admitted Hermione honestly. "Maybe. But let's try just standing in front of it and thinking of what McGonagall said to think; I need our dormitory."

Hermione and Malfoy turned to face the blank wall, and with a stubborn, concentrated look on their faces, the duo willed the room to give them entry to their dormitory. Sure enough, a painting of Shakespeare – a man who Hermione recognised immediately, but who Malfoy had no idea who he was – appeared, and asked for the password.

Hermione faltered. The Professor hadn't given them a password. Then, a grin spread over the Great Writer's face as he said "I'm only joking. You don't need a password, as I can see you are indeed Miss Granger, and that there... that is Mr Malfoy. Enter." He appeared to turn his nose up at the blonde haired Slytherin, and Hermione felt slightly sorry for him.

Without saying anything other than "Thanks," to the portrait, the opening to the wall enveloped the two students.

Hermione gasped as she surveyed the room. It was everything she had dreamt of when she'd romanticized the idea of being Head Girl. Now, of course that dream was lessened by the fact that Malfoy, instead of Ron or Harry, was head boy. Nevertheless, she looked round the room in wonder, her eyes pouring over every detail. It was much like the Gryffindor common room; except two large plush leather chairs were seated in front of a fire that was already crackling in the grate – Hermione made a mental note to thank the House Elves later – and a chess table sat to one side of it. It made Hermione smile when she thought about the amount of times that she'd been beaten numerous times by the Weasleys and Harry over the course of the summer. She suspected that Malfoy would probably beat her too – not that she had any intention of playing chess with him, or him with her.

The walls weren't just walls; they were in-built bookshelves with hundreds of different novels lining them. It was almost as if part of the library had been removed and placed in their dormitory! The grin spread wider and wider over Hermione's face, as she stood in front of the shelves, poring over the titles. She was so absorbed that she didn't notice Malfoy creep up behind her and grab her waist. A small yelp or surprise rang through the empty room, and Hermione turned to face Malfoy, her face crimson.

"What did you do that for?" She exclaimed. A smirk spread across Malfoy's face, and he shrugged.

"That's for earlier when you said I had no friends. But you're right, you know, I don't have any friends. Crab, Goyle, Pansy. They were just people who I _thought _I was friends with; that I liked. But really they were only friends with me because of my blood status. Now that there's no war anymore, that no longer means anything to me, particularly as my Dad... you know... he's gone. It's me and my Mum, now, and I realise that my Dad's been bringing me up on these ideas regarding blood status; but blood doesn't mean anything. If anyone's shown that, it's you, Hermione. Taking on the Dark Lord with those two _friends_ of yours. You're one of the bravest people I know, and I guess I just never saw that, with my father around." He smiled wistfully, and turned away without waiting for a reply from Hermione.

"But all those times you used to mock, tease and taunt me and my friends? You can't just forget about that Malfoy, or at least I can't. You made a lot of my school life hell, you know, and I'm not so quick to forgive, even if you _have_ seen the error of your ways."

"I know, and I'm not asking for forgiveness, yet. All those times I called you Mudblood, and Weasley a Blood traitor, I was just looking for acceptance, but now I don't want to be accepted by the people I once revelled in their admiration... so I just want you to know that you won't have me to worry about this year. I'll stay out of your way."

"Oh. Well thanks, I guess. But you're going to have a hard time convincing Harry and Ron that you've changed. Ron still thinks we shouldn't have rescued you from the Room of Requirement, you know." She shrugged almost apologetically.

"You're welcome, Yes, I don't think Potter or Weasley will be warming to me anytime soon, but I don't intend to be best pals with them anyway. I'm just trying to lead a normal life, now that _he's_ gone." Malfoy spat the 'he' forcefully; showing Hermione just how affected he had been by the Dark Lord's presence in his house, and his newfound hate for his father. "And if I were Weasley – god forbid; I mean, can you imagine, me, Ginger?" Hermione laughed at the utter look of horror that crossed Malfoy's face. "Anyway, if I were Weasley, well... let's just say I'm not so sure I'd have saved me, either. But I'm glad you did. And I hope you realise just how sorry I am. For everything, Hermione."

The look on Malfoy's face was one of pure apology – he seemed truly sorry for the deeds of his past, and yet Hermione couldn't forgive him that easily. So she just nodded, and watched as Malfoy turned on his heels and went to explore the other rooms.


	5. Where Has Draco Malfoy Gone?

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** If I was headmistress at Hogwarts I'd make sure the dorms were like this. Pretty cool if you ask me. Whaddya think? Lemme know – Beth :) xx  
-

**Chapter Five: Where has Draco Malfoy Gone?**

"Erm Hermione?" Malfoy called from one of the other rooms. Hermione pulled herself away from the bookshelf, where she was revelling in the vast expanse of titles. "You're not going to like this," he continued, and Hermione quickened her pace until she was standing next to the blonde haired Slytherin.

"What?" Hermione asked, a tone of worry shining through in her voice. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively and peered into the room. It was a large, luxurious bathroom complete with two basins, a shower, bath and toilet. "What's the matter?" She asked again, and Malfoy turned to her with a smirk on his face.

"Looks like we're going to be sharing a bathroom, Miss Granger... you better be careful to lock the door I might _accidentally_ walk in on you naked..." There wasn't a menacing tone to Malfoy's voice, Hermione noticed. It was something else. Flirtatious, even, and she raised an eyebrow quizzically at him.

"Look, Malfoy, you may have apologised for your misdeeds, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you see me naked anytime soon. If you so much as set one foot in that bathroom when I'm in it, then you'll find your genitalia severely damaged – I'm sure there's a spell for bodily damage somewhere in one of my books. We clear?" She asked, her turn to wear a smirk on her face.

"Crystal, Miss Granger," Malfoy retorted, grinning and executing a sarcastic bow to Hermione. She rolled her eyes. As much as she didn't relish the prospect of having to share a bathroom with Malfoy, at least he was being civil. This new him was hard to get used to, Hermione thought; it'd take a while before she finally adjusted to his new persona.

Malfoy opened one of the doors opposite the bathroom and peered in, and he called over his shoulder to Hermione, "Looks like this one's yours," he said, "judging by the colour scheme. This must be mine," he said and he opened the door next to it. Sure enough, Hermione caught a glimpse of green furnishings before he ran in and sprawled on the bed. "Not too shabby," Malfoy grinned, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have unpacking to do!"

Hermione stepped into the room that Malfoy had said was hers, and looked around. He was right – it was certainly better than their communal dormitories had been the previous years. A four poster bed was backed against a wall, where there was a view out over the Black Lake. _Nice_ thought Hermione. A chest of drawers, wardrobe and floor length mirror was arranged neatly, and there was a large plush red rug that Hermione's feet sunk into. At the bottom of the bed there was a scattering of assorted cushions, and a rather expensive looking bed throw. A trunk, at the foot of the bed held promise for knick-knack storage, and Hermione was pleased to see her trunk and Crookshanks' cage had already been brought up. So Hermione set about unpacking; unfolding and putting away robes, filing her books alphabetically on the bookshelf, and generally making herself at home. This year would be rather comfortable, she thought to herself, as she took a break and lay sprawled out on the four poster bed, sinking into the fabric, and staring at the space above the canopy. She was so absorbed in thought; she didn't hear Malfoy knocking on the door.

She jumped in surprise when she saw him enter her room, and demanded outraged, "What are you doing in here? Haven't you ever heard of knocking? I could have been _naked!_" Hermione pointed out.

"I did knock... you obviously didn't hear me; must have been deep in thought or something. Pity you're not," Malfoy said, looking Hermione up and down. She felt a faint blush coming to her cheeks, as she found Malfoy's eyes scrutinizing her body and then giving what looked like a small smile of approval. Over the summer Hermione had matured a little more – a late growth spurt, Molly had said, she'd gained an inch in height, and was a little shapelier. Due to her lack of money – her parents were still in Australia, with no idea they had a daughter – she hadn't bought new uniform, after all, it was like Molly said; Waste not want not. So Hermione knew that last year's blouse was a little tight across her bust, emphasising her curves, and she knew her trousers were quite figure hugging – but she hadn't expected this reaction when she took her robes off, and certainly not from Malfoy!

Embarrassed, Hermione changed the subject, "What do you want, then anyway," and Malfoy chuckled at her blatant awkwardness about her female form.

"I was just wondering if you'd unpacked, because if you had then maybe we should go check up on the others and tell them about the extra classes."

Hermione paused for a moment, in thought, before nodding. She knew already that a lot of the eighth years wouldn't respond well to this extra class; particularly not with the amount of work they would be receiving this year, already, and they didn't need any more stress. They'd need as much time before the first lesson as possible to overcome their prejudices. "Sure," Hermione said, "I'm done here so let me just get my robe and I'll meet your by the portrait."

She smiled at Malfoy, and to her surprises he nodded, before smiling back.

"Sure. Although you don't need to put your robes back on, you know, I wouldn't mind walking down a corridor with you looking like that," he grinned, looking her up and down once more.

Hermione nearly had a heart attack. Did Draco Malfoy really just say that he wouldn't mind being seen with her walking down a corridor? "Where's Malfoy and what have you done with him?" Hermione retorted, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"What?" Malfoy exclaimed, "Am I not allowed to be nice, now?"

Hermione giggled. "Nice, yes, but if I didn't know better Malfoy, I'd say you were being a tad flirtatious. You might want to watch yourself; people could get the wrong idea about us two sharing a dorm." She winked, jokingly, but Malfoy looked taken aback.

"Well maybe that's my intention, Granger," now it was his turn to wink. "Maybe I want people to think I've tainted your unicorn reputation..." OK. Thought Hermione, this is getting seriously weird. "But then again maybe it's just part of my new image. Don't want to start off by making more enemies than I've already got, do I?"

Malfoy left the room, leaving a bewildered Hermione in his wake. She genuinely thought that the real Draco Malfoy had been abducted and there was someone doing a very bad job of impersonating him and his previously bad boy demeanour. Boys, she thought. What can you do with them?


	6. Over Protective Pals

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** Bit of tension oooh … let me know how you think everyone handled it - Beth :) xx  
-

**Chapter Six: Over- Protective Pals**

Pulling on her robe on in a hurry, Hermione followed Malfoy out of her door and met him by the portrait hole where he was leaning casually against the wall.

"Ready?" Hermione answered Malfoy's question with a nod, and the two walked in companionable silence, neither one initiating the conversation that held many answers to which they both wanted answers… that would have to wait for another time. When the two students arrived at the newly converted bathroom, they said the password "muggle" and the portrait swung inwards. They gasped at the changes that the room had undergone; you would have never have guessed it had once been a bathroom, as now it resembled the Gryffindor common room that Hermione had grown to know and love over the years – but she had to admit, she preferred Malfoy's and her own room much more as it was more personal. Harry looked up from where he was sat in a chair near the fireplace and grinned.

"Hey Hermione," his face fell, a look of distaste flickering across it when he saw Malfoy stood behind her.

"Hi Harry. Could you get everyone to gather round here, for me, please? Malfoy and I have some things we need to tell you all."

Harry nodded, and ran off to collect everyone from their dorms. There were no charms this year preventing the boys entering the girl's quarters and vice versa, as everyone had their own little room for the sense of privacy. It seemed like McGonagall had made best use of the Chamber of Secrets; as everyone was gushing in praise at the quality of their new rooms when they all finally gathered around the head boy and girl.

Malfoy, Hermione noted, was stood rather sheepishly behind her, avoiding the gaze of so many of the students who were surveying him with a degree of hatred. She nudged him, and he looked at her, before she hissed, "D'you want to break it to them about the counselling lessons? Or shall I?"  
Malfoy shrugged, and then realising that he had something to prove, said, "I will." He stepped forward, noting with distaste that some of the students stepped back, almost as if they were scared, or disgusted to be in his presence.  
He did his best to ignore it – the last thing he needed was for his anger to get the best of him. "This year, Professor McGonagall has asked Hermione and me to inform you that there will be an extra class, which you will not be examined in. The school feels it necessary, that after certain _events_ of last year, some of us, if not all of us, would benefit from counselling. So, the school has made Guidance & Counselling lessons compulsory, assuring us that we will not receive too much extra work on top of our NEWTs," this he added for the benefit of Hermione who shot him a small smile – "and the teacher, Professor Duxhominem, will be present at the feast tonight. I hope you all can understand why the head teacher feels this is necessary, and do not have any complaints. That is all," Malfoy said, with a curt nod, and stepped back, letting Hermione take the limelight.

"That's right. We don't need to make any unnecessary fuss – as much as some of us won't want these lessons, we shall be the responsible adults we are and lump it. I also wish to remind you that this year is no exception for rule breaking – and don't expect me to be lenient on you because I am your friend. As head girl, it is my duty to see that those breaking the rules, get the come-uppance that they deserve – and that goes for _everyone," _Hermione said sternly, shooting a pointed look in Harry and Ron's direction. "But that's pretty much it, I think," Hermione said, smiling. "Here's to a peaceful year at Hogwarts, with no interruptions to our studies," she beamed, causing giggles amongst the students. Harry had been right when he'd said they'd never have a quiet year at Hogwarts – would this year be any different, Hermione wondered. She certainly hoped so.

The bunch of students dispersed, leaving Malfoy, Hermione, Ron and Harry stood awkwardly around. Hermione broke the silence, "I'm going to stay here with my friends for a bit. I'll meet you after the feast in the great hall to go patrolling, OK?" Malfoy gave a curt nod, before leaving via the portrait hole.  
As soon as he was out of sight, Ron hissed, "Bloody hell Hermione, what was that about? He called you Hermione in his little speech, not Granger, and didn't insult anyone once!"

Hermione hadn't noticed Malfoy addressing her by her first name, but now that Ron had pointed it out, it did seem rather odd. "I don't know, Ron! Maybe he's changed – trying to put on a good act to show he deserves to be head boy? Don't ask me!" She exclaimed. "But I think it would be best for all of us if we tried to make amends and at least be civil to each other with him. It would make life for all of us a lot easier if we all just got along – particularly me seeing as it's him and me in a dorm all alone all year."

"What?" Ron exclaimed, seeming particularly outraged, "You're in a room all alone with that bastard? What if he does something, like tries to get you pregnant or something?" Both Harry and Hermione burst out in peals of laughter at Ron's suggestion, and Hermione placed a hand on Ron's arm reassuringly.

"Ron, trust me, the last thing I'm going to be doing is jumping into bed with Malfoy, so don't worry about it. I'll be fine; I just think we should give him a chance to make amends. After all, it does seem like he's changed. I mean, he hasn't called me _Mudblood_ once!"

Ron and Harry regarded Hermione with a degree of suspicion, before Harry spoke up. "Why are you being so quick to forgive him, Hermione? How can you just let all the years of being tormented and teased go down the drain without giving them a second thought? Malfoy's evil, Hermione, and I don't know about you Ron, but I'm not making up with the bastard anytime soon!" Ron nodded, and Hermione sighed frustratedly.

"I'm not asking you to become friends with the guy," she explained, "It's just he's been through a lot and I think he's kind of lost right now; his father's dead and his Mum's gone off the bend. He doesn't have any friends. I'm just saying go easy on him, not pairing up with him in potions kind of friendly!"

Ron and Harry regarded her for a long moment, before Ron said, "Sorry Hermione but I can't do it. I hate the guy and I'm not as quick to forgive as some people. So I'm afraid the little ferret is going to do something pretty miraculous for me to believe that this whole I've-turned-over-a-new-leaf thing isn't an act." Harry nodded.

"If I didn't know you better," Harry said to Hermione, "I'd say from the way you're defending him, you have a bit of a soft spot for Malfoy." He and Ron laughed, not noticing the slightly reddish tinge that came to Hermione's ears, hidden in her lustrous curls.

"But it's Malfoy, right? Even if he was the last guy on earth you wouldn't touch him," Ron added, unhelpfully, without even a degree of questioning in his voice. Thankfully, Ginny entered the room at the perfect moment.

"Hey Ginny," Ron called, ignoring the lovey-dovey eyes Harry was making at his sister. "Don't you think that if Malfoy was the last guy alive you rather die than touch him?"

His sister shot him a withering look, before looking knowingly at Hermione. "Honestly Ronald, have you not got eyes? Have you not _seen_ Malfoy lately," she said, giving a girls-only look to Hermione. "He's hot – there's no denying it!"

Hermione listened to what Ginny was saying and thought about the blonde Slytherin. She had to admit it – he had become noticeably changed over the holidays – much like herself, she thought – and his once slicked back blonde hair hung loosely in blonde strands over his forehead, and his once cold, hard grey eyes had become a degree softer and were now more seductive than anything else. He was well built and muscular from Quidditch but he was also skinny from leading an active lifestyle – unlike Neville, who had always piled on the pounds a bit after spending the summer with his Grandmother who fattened him up with her cooking. Not that Hermione had spent much time ogling Malfoy, but when he'd looked her up and down earlier in her room, she'd had ample opportunity to "check him out" as the expression goes, of her own.

Ginny was still babbling on about Malfoy's ladies charm and looks, when she asked, "Right, Hermione?" All eyes turned on her, and Hermione found herself blush a tiny bit at being caught off guard – although they all thought it was because she was having not so innocent thoughts about Malfoy, which was partly true as well.

"Um, pardon?" Hermione managed to squeak out. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Malfoy's hot, isn't he?" Ginny asked, and Harry and Ron shot daggers at her.

"He's ... OK, I suppose. But yes, he is significantly hotter than he used to be." Ginny smiled in triumph.

"See Ronald," Ginny smirked. "I'm not the only one who thinks so. So although he's an arrogant, pompous and stuck up twat, he's still hot. So don't be so quick to reckon Hermione wouldn't jump his bones." With a wink, Ginny left the room, leaving Hermione Ron and Harry standing gaping.

Ron broke the silence. "You wouldn't ... do that ... with Malfoy, would you, Hermione?" Ron asked cautiously. Hermione shook her head wildly.

"Of course not Ronald!" She tutted. "Malfoy may jump into bed with anyone and brag about it the next day, but one person with whom that isn't happening, is me. I like to think I am a strong willed person, after all." She'd struck a nerve, for one of the reasons for her and Ron's breakup over the summer had been because he had been so open about their sex life. He'd gone into all the gory details over breakfast – and Hermione had felt sickened by how flippantly he treated the act of love-making. He wasn't even that good a shag, Hermione mused. All talk, no game – he's been selfish and Hermione had just _known_ it wasn't meant to be. Hopefully their friendship, which had taken a pretty sharp blow, was on the road to recovery now.

"Good," Ron sighed, relieved. "Because if that Malfoy does _anything_ to you, I'll hex the living daylights out of him!"


	7. A Bet That Shouldn't Have Been Made

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Seven: A Bet That Shouldn't Have Been Made**

Hermione sat in one of the armchairs by the common room fireplace, with Harry and Ron on either side of them, with her knees tucked under her chin. She did her best to try and appear interested in their mundane chatter about Quidditch. It really frustrated her that they never seemed to talk about anything other than the sport; a sport which Hermione didn't even find particularly entertaining to begin with. For an intelligent girl, Hermione found herself wanting more than the highlights of the Chudley Cannons match from conversation; so it wasn't a surprise to Harry and Ron when she seemed unfocused and disinterest. They'd learnt not to take Hermione's lack of interest in Quidditch personally, instead letting her drift off into her own little world. At this moment in time Hermione was musing how the Gryffindors had reacted to Malfoy, when he'd addressed them all earlier. Some of them really had been rather rude, Hermione contemplated, making a mental note to amend the situation before it got too aggravating for Malfoy. He really did seem like a changed person, as did Harry and Ron.

The two people that Hermione had befriended in their first year at Hogwarts were no longer the same people they once were; not just the obvious physical changes, with Ron's ginger fuzz that now engulfed his chin, and Harry's shadow a constant reminder of how grown up they all were now – but also mentally. Harry was no longer the reckless and instinctive person he had once been; in fact you could say he wasn't as much fun. Now, he was far more broody, and Hermione found him hard to talk to sometimes – too caught up in the intrinsical workings of his mind to hold a decipherable conversation. Ron was the same, basically, with one or two additions. The attention that the trio received at the end of the end of the Final Battle certainly went to his head; and now Ron walked around as if he was better than everyone. This annoyed Hermione to no end, as well as Ron's total disregard for privacy and over protectiveness that he evidently still felt towards her. But she tolerated it – after all, they were _still _her best friends at the end of the day, through thick and thin.

Meanwhile, on his way back to the Room of Requirement, Malfoy had been delayed by the poltergeist that was now famous amongst those who had returned for their eighth year. Instead of terrorising first years, as you could imagine, Peeves was drifting through the corridors when he encountered Malfoy. A wicked grin spread across the poltergeist's face, as a book from a nearby shelf was hurtled at the blonde Slytherin's head, whilst Peeves cackled evilly. The book made contact with Malfoy's skull with a wicked _thump_, but fortunately it wasn't a particularly voluminous novel, so it didn't inflict too much damage. It did, however, cause Malfoy to whirl around in outrage, ready to reprimand whoever had been targeting the Head Boy. When Malfoy spotter Peeves from where he was chuckling in the eaves, his face fell. It wasn't a student who he could easily inflict pain and punishment upon – instead, Peeves was an entirely different kettle of fish. The insufferable poltergeist only gave up and left you alone when he got what he wanted; something which Malfoy knew from experience.

"What do you want, Peeves?" Malfoy asked, impatiently, and he stood craning his neck at the poltergeist, which swooped down until he was just out of Malfoy's reach.

Peeves chuckled, and pulled on a strand of Malfoy's hair mischievously. Malfoy merely rolled his eyes, having been through this drill so many times. "Peeves was just wondering what Malfoy's change in hair style was for... Peeves heard about daddykins, I did, such a shame, such a shame," Peeves grinned wickedly, shaking his head from side to side. Malfoy shuddered at the mention of his father; a fact that which fortunately Peeves didn't latch onto. "So tell me, Malfoy, what's with the new hairstyle? You're not _gay_ are you?" Peeves chortled, and Malfoy swatted the poltergeist with annoyance.

"No of course I'm not you blithering idiot. I'm as straight as a ruler, me. I could get any girl in this school I wanted, and don't you forget that!" Malfoy exclaimed angrily, rubbing the spot on his head that the book had made contact with earlier.

Again, Peeves chortled, shaking his head from side to side even faster than before, "No, no, no," chanted the poltergeist in a sing-song voice, "You can't get _any_ girl you want," Peeves spat as he zoomed over-head, his constant movement giving Malfoy the beginnings of a headache.

"And why's that?" Malfoy asked, frustrated now, so he just humoured the poltergeist.

"Because there's no way that Gryffindor girl, Granger, would fall for you, that's why," Peeves cackled as he zoomed around Malfoy's head. Malfoy swiped at him angrily.

"If I wanted to make Granger fall for me, I could, you little pest!" Malfoy spat angrily now, thoughts of the curly haired muggle clouding his mind.

"Peeves thinks otherwise, Mr Malfoy," Peeves sang, doubled over in mirth. "In fact Peeves is willing to make a bet with Mr Malfoy here that he can't get Miss Granger to fall for him before the end of the school year... Peeves is that certain that the muggle-witch would rather die than endure more than an hour in your company," Peeves grinned.

Malfoy rolled his eyes frustratedly – he really wanted to get back to the common room for some rest before the feast – "Fine, Peeves. I'll make a bet with you. If I can't get her to fall for me then what do you want?"

Peeves cocked his head to the side for a few moments, before answering, "If Peeves is right, which he will be, you will have to buy him a lifetime's supply of practical jokes from Zonko's, yes? Because then Peeves can wreak havoc amongst the students of Hogwarts, and Peeves will be happy. Yes, that is good. Are we agreed?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Fine. And if I win? You have to follow Pansy Parkinson around for the rest of her life; even when she leaves Hogwarts and be her own personal poltergeist. Deal?"

"Deal," echoed Peeves as he spat on his hand and proffered it to Malfoy, who took it with an air of disgust, before wiping his hand on his robe. The poltergeist zoomed off into the distance chortling, whilst Malfoy headed back to the common room in haste.

What if he couldn't get Hermione to fall for him by the end of the year? The Gryffindor girl had always seemed exempt from his boyish charms that made nearly every other girl fall at his feet the past few years at Hogwarts; what's to say this year would change anything, Malfoy mused. Sure, Malfoy had changed, but Hermione hadn't even said they were friends yet – and he suspected that it would be a long time before she would even contemplate the notion of being more than civil with the blonde haired Slytherin. After all, wasn't it the nature of their two houses to fight? But maybe this year, Malfoy's conscience argued, seeing as they were sharing a dorm, it would be easier to introduce her to the real Draco Malfoy? The Draco Malfoy that he became when he wasn't surrounded by death eater's children; who hung on to his every word, and who would more than certainly get him in trouble for associating with Mudbloods once upon a time? Would Hermione even _like _that side of him? He certainly hoped so, he sighed, as he rested his head in his palms, as he sat on the corner of his bed, doubled over, having smarted himself up for the welcoming feast.

A light knock on the door roused him from his musings, and he jumped up guiltily from where he was sat once he saw who it was.  
Hermione stood at the door with a slight element of concern on her face, "Hey," she began, smiling gently, "I was just coming to ask you if you're ready to the feast. Are you OK?" She asked, sympathetically, even though she had no need to be nice to him. He smiled. Those Gryffindor's; always so nice, he thought.

"I'm fine, Hermione, thank you. Or at least I will be, once I get some food," he grinned, his smile growing wider as he took in the beam that lit Hermione's face up.

Unbeknown to Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger was in a little bubble of happiness at that moment of time, because whether intentionally or not, Malfoy had just called her by her first name; for the second time in the same day. My, my, thought Hermione. Maybe this year really _would_ be different, she mused, as the two walked in companionable silence to the Great Hall for a hearty meal that their stomachs were already clamouring for. _Different indeed._

-**A/N:** I'm really not sure about my depiction of Peeves. Any pointers? Reviews on this chapter would be really helpful – Beth :) xx


	8. After Curfew Rendezvous

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** Reviews would be lovely – Beth :) xx  
-

**Chapter Eight: After Curfew Rendezvous**

Once the first years had been sorted, and the new Gryffindors had been welcomed to the table, everyone began to tuck in. The feast was the same that the trio had come to expect every year; with voluminous amounts of food which by far surpassed the amount that they would be able to eat. Every year Hermione made sure to congratulate the house elves on what a fantastic job they did with the welcoming feast; it really _was_ food galore. Helping herself to some Roast Chicken and potatoes, she sat bringing forkful after forkful after the delicious nourishment to her mouth, all whilst trying not to get too aggravated by Ron's sarcastic comments and general teasing directed towards Malfoy, who was seated on his own at the far end of the Slytherin table. Hermione couldn't help but feel a knot of sympathy in her stomach for the blonde haired boy; he'd been through so much already as a result of his father receiving the Dementor's kiss, and now he had no friends. Blaise and Pansy were sat further along the table, paying no attention to their once great leader, Malfoy; instead they seemed to be staring lovingly into one another's eyes over the trifle. Hermione rolled her eyes; she really did despise Pansy, in all her fake sucking-up ways. Ronald really wasn't helping her mood, though, she thought; as the ginger boy opposite her shovelled the food into his mouth as if there was no tomorrow, globules of food splattering left right and centre. She shuddered, having always despised Ron's table manners.

"Look at the git," spat Ron, as he nodded over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy's head was hung over his plate as he pushed some vegetables around it. "What's he even done to his hair? He looks like he's trying to be Gilderoy Lockhart with that bloody style!"

Hermione didn't look up from her food, as she already knew what Malfoy's hair looked like, and had decided that the rakish run-your-hands-through-it look suited him. She clenched her fork steadily to stop herself from landing in an argument with Ron over his least favourite Slytherin. The last thing the trio needed was for her to get into an argument with Ron over something as trivial as a hairstyle – so she kept her mouth shut, and concentrated on chewing and swallowing the food on her plate. Harry guffawed at Ron's comment in a totally over-the-top and immature way, but neither of the boys noticed Hermione's lack of enthusiasm over their topic choice.

"I know! The slimy old ferrets got no friends now that Daddykins isn't around to pay people off to befriend him." Hermione shot Harry a glare at this point, but he didn't notice; he was too absorbed in the jacket potato he was devouring.

"Harry, that's not very nice. Imagine what you'd think if someone said that about you..." Hermione trailed off when Harry looked at her pointedly.

"You're not _defending_ him, are you Hermione? Christ, that would be the second time today... the difference, need I remind you, between Malfoy's parents and my own, is that my parents weren't DEATH EATERS!" Harry emphasised, glaring angrily at Hermione.

Under her breath she muttered, "Yes, but they're still dead." And she thanked whatever mystical being that wizards were meant to believe in that Harry didn't hear that last bit. Her temper was really getting the best of her lately; she would need to learn how to control that.

"Well if you ask me the weasel deserves to be alone. It's not like he's a particularly nice person, anyway." Ron said, and Harry nodded in agreement. "I don't envy you sharing a dorm with him, Hermione. You make sure he doesn't do anything..." Ron gave her a knowing look and Hermione shot him down with a how-dare-you-insinuate-that look, and Ron went red, choosing to focus on his apple pie instead.

The awkward silence that had grown between the trio; with a fuming Hermione stabbing her food a little too forcefully, and Harry and Ron frustrated at Hermione's new demeanour, alongside a chatty Luna who couldn't seem to know when to shut up about Wrackspurts, was broken by a chink of a glass from the teacher's table.

Professor McGonagall stood up and addressed the students, "Welcome back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For many of you, this will be the first time you arrive here; and for others, it will be the last," McGonagall said, looking over in the direction of the eighth years.

"This castle has endured many hardships over the past few years, but we are confident that it shall remain a haven to all those within its walls. With events that transpired last year; with the defeat of Voldemort –"There were a few murmurs at the mention of the evil wizard's name, from the first years as they chattered excitedly – "we hope that this year will be a much _quieter_ year, with not so many supernatural battles. Or at least we hope not," a wry grin spread across the grey-haired witch's face.

"You have all been allocated your dorms and you know your passwords. I wish to inform all students that the Forbidden Forest is no longer off limits to students; but I ask you not to stray too far as there are still some creatures that could do you harm if you provoked them, and to not step foot in the forest after curfew, which is eleven 'o' clock. Also, due to the extensive damage to the room of requirement, that has been destroyed, and shall no longer be accessible to students. For this I apologise, but I am sure you will not suffer too greatly from that loss."

There were a few murmurs from the members of the DA at this point, but Hermione noticed Malfoy catch her eye and smile. They were the only two students who knew otherwise, Hermione thought, and that way it would stay.

"Your class schedules will be delivered to students at breakfast tomorrow, and can I ask that the first years refrain from setting the curtains on your beds alight; however hideous the drapings may be. That is all. You may all return to your dormitories; and prefects will be coming round to make sure you're all in bed by curfew. Here's to a happy and productive year at Hogwarts," the transfiguration teacher beamed, as she sat back down.

The bustle of students began filtering off into their separate dormitories, and Harry and Ron smiled wanly at Hermione before leaving to go to the new quarters for the eighth years.

"See you at breakfast tomorrow, Herms?" Ron asked, not noticing Hermione wince at the abbreviation of her name. She nodded, and hugged both boys.

"I've got head girl duty, but I'll see you both tomorrow. Get some sleep – don't play chess _all _night; I'm sure we have a busy day tomorrow!" Hermione fussed, and the two boys rolled their eyes.

"Yes, Mum," the two boys chanted in unison, rolling their eyes. Hermione laughed and shooed them out of the hall, turning to survey the sea of students until she found the blonde hair that she had come to know all-too-well.

"Watcha, Granger," Malfoy said as he approached her, in a way that reminded Hermione of the late Tonks. She pushed the thought aside; thinking of dead people would only bring her mood down to an unnecessary low.

"You alright?" Hermione asked the Slytherin, as they filed out the hall side by side. He shrugged.

"I've been better," he said pointedly, leaving the matter of his lack of company hanging in the air.

"I would have joined you..." Hermione trailed off as she saw the pointed look Malfoy was giving her.

"No you wouldn't Granger. You wouldn't dream of leaving Potter and the ginger to come and sit at the _Slytherin _table. We're sworn enemies, remember?" He grinned, alerting Hermione to the fact that he was joking.

"Well... Ok, you have a point. But still, I felt sorry for you sat all alone."

"You don't need to feel sorry for me, Granger," Malfoy said dejectedly. "I brought this all on myself."

Hermione chose to ignore this last statement; instead addressing his previous point. "Just because our houses haven't always seen eye to eye doesn't mean that we need to be _enemies. _People can change, you know. You're a clear example of that. Even Ron noticed earlier that you haven't called me Mudblood once!" Hermione beamed at the Slytherin, causing a half smile to flit across his face.

"You're right. Here's to house unity!" Malfoy smirked, raising an imaginary glass for a toast. "As for all those times I called you that despicable name... I'm sorry, Hermione. I really am."

A grin crossed Hermione's face; he'd addressed her by her forename rather than surname, for the umpteenth time today.

The rounds of the castle went by relatively quickly; with the head boy and girl patrolling the corridors side by side. Malfoy was unusually chatty and Hermione listened with intrigue as they covered everything but her hated topic, _Quidditch._ At several points they had to stop and send third and fourth years scuttling off to their dorms, after interrupting passionate make out sessions – a fact that when Hermione put on her steely no-nonsense tone, caused Malfoy to chuckle throatily, earning him a disparaging look from Hermione.

Once the beetroot faced couple had departed, Hermione turned to look at Malfoy. "What?" She asked, exasperated. It was awkward enough having to interrupt that kind of encounter, she thought, recalling to when she'd come across Ron and Lavender that time... Malfoy shrugged, grinning.

"Oh, nothing," he smiled knowingly. "It's just the amount of time I paid no heed to head girl when I was having rendezvous in the corridors after lights out; if you were head girl I'd have _certainly_ scampered off to bed without so much as a fleeting kiss." Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course, she'd forgotten Malfoy's reputation for being a womanizer and blatant flirt; why, he had Pansy Parkinson amongst many others, clinging onto his every word.

"Well see to it that I don't catch you making out in the corridors after dark, then, Malfoy," Hermione jibed.

"Is that an order?" Malfoy grinned back. "And how exactly do you propose to stop me from doing that?" Hermione contemplated the question for a moment before retorting.

"I'll just have to tell every girl that you snore and don't shower," Hermione chimed, as she walked through the corridors.

Malfoy laughed, "Oh but Hermione, that wouldn't be such a good idea. Because then, if you steal all the girls away from me then it'll only be you who knows the truth... and I have you know I could have you wrapped around my little finger if I wanted to, drooling at my every word and my fine, fine body, that is, if I only had you to focus on," He grinned.

"In your dreams, Malfoy, in your dreams." Hermione jostled him with her elbow, and he shot her a look of mock hurt. She smiled.

"In my dreams indeed, Granger," Malfoy winked seductively, as they reached the Room of Requirement. Entering the common room, they made to enter their separate rooms.

"You know what, Malfoy?" asked Hermione, "I think we could be a pretty good team, this year. Here's to us," she grinned as she mimicked Malfoy's mock toast from earlier.

Malfoy nodded in agreement. "Goodnight, Hermione," he murmured as they went their separate ways.

A few fleeting seconds passed as he waited for an answer before entering his room. Then he heard it, "Goodnight, Draco."

That night Draco Malfoy fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in a very, very long time; not knowing that across the hall, a brown-haired Gryffindor was lying in bed, staring up at the canopy, and thinking about just how much people can change in such a small, small amount of time...


	9. An Unlikely Trio & the Eagle's Conundrum

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Nine: An Unlikely Trio & The Eagle's Conundrum  
****  
** The next day at breakfast, whilst gulping down pumpkin juice and nibbling on toast, Hermione perused her timetable. She had Transfiguration first thing with Professor McGonagall; who Hermione was thrilled to know was still teaching despite her new role as head teacher. The professor had been a mother to Hermione throughout her many years at Hogwarts, and Hermione could even see herself if the woman's shoes one day, too. Harry, Ron and Neville all shared a class with her, and so they all made their way to the class together.

"I really hope I don't fail Transfiguration this year," Neville said, worriedly, "Gran will kill me if I do..." His comment went unnoticed by everyone but Hermione, as she scrutinized Neville. He'd changed so much but really he was still the same old Neville that he'd always been. Ron and Harry were chatting animatedly about Quidditch once again, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. Didn't they ever get talking about the sport? Boys, she thought. So simple minded. But then she amended her statement; because her conversations with Malfoy were far from simple.  
Malfoy was probably her biggest competition – certainly in potions, without Harry having help from Snape's book – and she strove to beat him and outdo him in school work. He had a brain about him; she could give that to him; whereas Harry and Ron got by with the help of Hermione. She smiled as she thought to herself how much control she had over Ron's grades; certainly if they fell out the quality of his homework would suffer! She hoped that would never happen, though.

Arriving at their classroom, the huddle of students stood outside until Professor McGonagall arrived, ushering them into the classroom. Students sat down with a hustle and bustle of stool scraping against the flagstone flooring, and McGonagall called for quiet.

"For this term's assignment you will need to get into partners, please. It is very important that you work with someone of similar ability –" she shot Ron a look as he mouthed to Hermione to partner him – "as I will have no leaning on one another this year; you will both be expected to complete the work I set, no relying on somebody else to do it for you."

At this point, the tips of Ron's ears turned red, and he averted his gaze from Hermione. He knew as well as she did that often he took advantage of her monopolising the task trait and her brains to use lessons as a chance to mess around; Hermione would always help him get something later if he didn't understand it. Not this year, though. McGonagall had seen to that with the last comment. Ron turned to Harry who instantly agreed to partner him. That left Hermione looking around the class for someone to be partnered with. Everyone paired off quickly, shuffling the seats around, apart from three people. Hermione, Neville and Malfoy.

Perhaps one of the most unlikely combinations _ever, _and Hermione turned to McGonagall for directions, who was looking pensively at the remaining three students.

"Hermione, Draco and Neville you can be a three, but I expect each of you to pull your own weight within the group, and to help any members of the group who are struggling, is that clear?" Hermione nodded, already moving to sit in between Malfoy and Neville. It was clear that Neville didn't want to be any closer to Malfoy than a mouse wants to be near a lion; he was looking at Malfoy with a look of pure fear. Hermione smiled at him reassuringly, and Neville managed a feeble smile in return.

"Today we will be transforming people into animals, using the simple spell _Quatuor Pedes,_ which is an incantation which will transform the person you are casting it upon into the animal that they are most alike in temperament. It's a nice and easy lesson to break you back into Transfiguration, but I hope it will also be a learning curve for you as you assess your personalities, as well as appearances. By the end of next week, I want one roll of parchment describing the spell and how it works – this you will find out for research – and then a paragraph analysing your animal and how it reflects you. Please note that no two people are the same animal, unless they have a spiritual connection, and these instances are very rare. If however you do have the same animal form as one of your classmates, I ask you not to be alarmed; there will be some logical explanation. You may begin," McGonagall explained.

This left Malfoy, Hermione and Neville stood around awkwardly. Neville spoke up first; his voice barely more than a squeak, "Why doesn't Hermione transfigure me first? I mean she's least likely to get it wrong, and I don't fancy it going wrong for either of you... I'm your best bet." Malfoy looked at Hermione and a look of understanding flicked across the duo's face.

"Neville?" Malfoy asked, and Neville gaped, stunned that Malfoy hadn't insulted him, instead choosing to use his first name. "I'm not the person I used to be. I'm not asking you for forgiveness; I'm merely telling you that you can trust me. I won't hurt you." Hermione smiled at Malfoy – she knew how hard that must have been for the Slytherin – and Neville nodded, too stunned to speak.

"Well in that case, Malfoy, you can cast the spell on me. You're nearly as good as Hermione, anyway." Neville announced, shocking both Hermione and Malfoy.

"Nearly as good? I think that's debatable," Malfoy smirked, throwing Hermione a look. He'd been outshone by the witch many years now; something he didn't want to happen again.

"Well... let's agree to disagree, shall we? Just do the spell, Malfoy," Neville said as he managed a smile, mainly directed in Hermione's direction.

Malfoy nodded and raised his wand, pointing it at Neville, oblivious to the changes that were taking place around the classroom. "_Quatuor Pedes,"_ Malfoy said, fluently pronouncing every syllable. There was a small squeal from Neville as he shrank down to the floor and became a goldfish; bowl of water included. He swam several laps around his bowl, a stream of bubbles flowing to the surface. Malfoy looked and Hermione, who burst out in peals of laughter.

"I guess it makes sense," Malfoy spluttered amongst peals of giggles. "After the Rememberall, it makes sense that Neville's forgetfulness would be his most prominent trait."

Hermione nodded in agreement; it did suit Neville, and she was sure he would have no problem analysing what this showed about his character when writing his essay. It prompted her to think about what she would be, in her animal form. Malfoy flicked his wand in Neville's direction, and a few seconds later, an out of breath Neville laid on the flagstone floor. He looked up at the blonde haired Slytherin who for the first time had a grin, not a smirk, plastered on his face, and let out a sigh of relief.

"I was worried then; I thought you'd leave me as a Goldfish forever," Neville exclaimed as he picked himself off the floor.

Malfoy shook his head, "However tempting the idea, Longbottom, I'm not sure Hermione here or Professor McGonagall would have allowed me to. It's your turn now, though. You cast the spell on Hermione, and then she can do me." He shot Hermione a look at the inadvertent innuendo and she gave him a look of disgust in return; unable to hide the beginnings of a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Neville shot Hermione a reproachful look; not confident in his spell casting abilities, but Hermione threw him an encouraging smile. Withdrawing his wand, he pointed it at Hermione, and pronounced the incantation.

A small bang and a flash caused both Neville and Malfoy to jump back in alarm, thinking Hermione had been harmed; but instead an eagle perched on the corner of the desk, its eyes darting around the room. Draco and Neville stood looking at Hermione in her new form for a few moments, before with a flick of his wrist; Neville restored her to being her usual self.

"Interesting," mused Hermione, her voice shaking slightly. She flicked through her book to find animals and their meanings; and when she located Eagle, she read aloud. "The eagle denotes self-confidence and intellectual freedom; often the cleverest of people become eagles as opposed to the common misconception that the owl is the symbol of great intellect. The eagle represents the pursuement of unconventional concepts of issues; and can symbolize the thymus centre of the body which is related to love. The eagle denotes freedom, with great responsibility, and is also a beacon of light over dark. The eagle also represents strength and power."

Hermione smiled as she closed the book, and Draco and Neville smiled. That sounded like Hermione in a nutshell, alright. "Your turn, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, and he nodded, moving to stand in front of her.

She picked up her wand and with a swish and a flick muttered the spell. There was a whoosh and Malfoy transformed into a familiar feathered bird. Hermione stood shocked for a few moments as Malfoy's beady eyes darted around the classroom. An eagle; the mirror image of what Hermione had been moments before was perched on the exact same spot. The beady eyes trained on Hermione's and it seemed like the creature was peering into her soul. She inhaled sharply as she was alerted to Professor McGonagall's presence behind her.

"Is everything alright, Miss Granger?" the teacher enquired. Hermione shook her head and pointed to Malfoy in his bird form.

"He's an eagle; the same as me. There must have been some mistake; maybe I did the spell wrong?" The teacher looked curiously at Hermione, and then flicked her wand at Malfoy, who transformed immediately into a teenage boy. Professor McGonagall paused for a moment in thought before looking between the two students.

"No mistake, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy," she began. "But I feel this matter needs exploring outside of class. Perhaps you two could stay behind after the lesson today. If you're still shaken Miss Granger then I suggest you refrain from casting any spells for the time being. You may start your homework already seeing as you've all performed the spell correctly," she announced, gesturing for Neville to follow her instruction as well.

Hermione sat down on the wooden stool, sharing a look of confusion with the blonde haired Slytherin. He seemed to have no idea what the spells results meant, either, so she shook her head and took her quill to parchment.

Before she did so she looked around the room; just in time to see Harry turn Ronald into a fierce, snarling lion. She smiled wanly as she read the definition of the King of the Juggle; the lion denotes strength of character and tremendous energy. It can show one's animalistic traits sometimes outweigh its human traits; particularly in terms of protectiveness and anger – a roaring lion shows anger and temper, whilst the golden colour can represent the good side of the individual. That was certainly Ron, Hermione thought to herself...

-**A/N:** Hermione and Malfoy both take on the same form? I wonder what that means… any ideas? Review and let me know, who knows you might be right ;) – Beth :) xx


	10. Coincidence and a Bottle of Sherry

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Ten: Coincidence and a Bottle of Sherry**

As the rest of the students filed out of the classroom, Hermione remained at her desk, face bent over her parchment; a curtain of hair hiding her face and confused expression from the Transfiguration teacher and the blonde haired Slytherin beside her. Why had Malfoy and herself both transformed into the same creature? It was bizarre, to say the least. Hermione couldn't think of a single reason why they would be the same creature – for that to happen there had to be a deep spiritual connection. Once Neville had stumbled out the classroom – but not before getting his robe caught in the door – McGonagall beckoned the two students to her desk.

"Please don't be alarmed at the outcome of today's lesson," she started, as she scrutinized Malfoy and Hermione in turn. "Whilst it is true that the same _Quatuor Pedes _usually means a deep spiritual connection of some sort, it doesn't have to be. By my reckoning, the reason for your transformation was because you have very similar personality traits – as much as you don't like to admit it – and the fact that you both took the same form was merely a coincidence, rather than an indication of a spiritual connection. Please don't worry – I can assure you there was nothing out of the ordinary with the outcome of today's lesson. That is all – I believe you both have Guidance and Counselling next lesson? Please give my apologies to Professor Duxhominem if you are late."

The teacher smiled warmly, and Hermione and Malfoy both nodded; Hermione letting out a breath that she didn't know she was holding – she was glad that it was pure coincidence that they took the same form; because she'd been dreading that Malfoy and herself had some kind of spiritual connection that meant they would have to fall in love and get married... she shuddered, because although Malfoy's new attitude was far more endearing than before, and he hadn't insulted her yet, she still found him an insufferable, infuriating, answer-to-everything git the majority of the time.

As Malfoy and Hermione made their ways through the crowded corridors, standing taller than the first years, Hermione didn't notice as Malfoy scrutinized her with a confused look on his face.

"It's kind of funny, don't you think, Granger?" Malfoy asked, his trademark smirk plastered on his face.

"Oh I'm sorry Malfoy but am I meant to know what you're thinking now?" Hermione asked a degree of sarcasm in her tone.

"Oh sorry, I forgot you couldn't read my thoughts..." Malfoy grinned, "Don't you think it's funny how we're so alike we took on the same form, of an eagle?"

Hermione considered it for a moment, before answering, "Not really. I've always known we're quite similar – we're both smart, except I'm obviously a bit smarter than you..." Hermione laughed at the outraged look on Malfoy's face.

"I'll have you know Granger that the teachers in this place just prefer you to me, that's why they give you higher marks-"

"You're better than me at potions, though," she admitted, cutting off Malfoy mid-rant.

"Too right I am!" He exclaimed, "But I'm also just as good as you, if not better than you at Herbology, Charms, and Ancient Runes. And I'm definitely better than you at divination –"

"But Divination isn't a real subject!" Hermione exclaimed, too busy and enraptured in their argument to be looking where she was going, as she turned the corner, and collided with none other than Professor Trelawney; the batty and seemingly insane Divination teacher that Hermione hated so much.

"What is that, my dear? Are you talking about my art, the noble art of Divination?" Exclaimed the bespectacled crone who was sprawled on the floor, clutching a bottle of sherry to her chest and hiccupping, whereas Hermione stood upright, slightly shocked that she'd just been caught slagging off a teacher – even if it _was_ Divination!

"Not at all, Professor," Hermione stammered, but Malfoy swooped in and rescued her...

"Hermione and I were just arguing about which subjects we're better than each other at, Professor," he grinned, as he helped the tipsy woman to her feet, her strings of beads clattering noisily. "I was saying how she clearly doesn't have a talent for the art of Divination; unlike me," he simpered, causing Hermione to roll her eyes behind his back.

"Oh yes, my dear boy... you have your Grandmother's blood that is for sure. How is she?" she asked, her eyes wide and unnerving.

Malfoy shuffled awkwardly, "She died before I was born, Professor."

Hermione suppressed a giggle; muttering to Malfoy, "If she was a real seer then she'd have known that..." and she received a sharp jab in her side in return for her remark from the blonde haired Slytherin.

Professor Trelawney brushed her skirt down, and tried to hide her Sherry bottle in her cardigan, too late for the students had already seen it and were looking at their alleged role model in disbelief. The teacher scrutinized the two students; looking at Malfoy and Hermione from top to bottom as if she was trying to figure something out.

"Mark my words, the eagles will make their nest and fall in love before the year is out," the Professor murmured, a small hiccup escaping her lips, as she patter down her wild curls and pushed her spectacles further up her rather prominent nose. With a final hiccup and clank of her sherry bottle, she turned on her heels, muttering something which neither Hermione nor Malfoy managed to catch.

"What do you suppose she was on about, then?" Malfoy asked curiously. Hermione was feeling slightly unnerved due to the mention of the creature herself and Malfoy had been only a few minutes; after all, she thought, eagles don't tend to come up in every day conversation that often. She shrugged, "The woman's drunk and even when she's sober she doesn't make any sense anyway. Never listen to anything she says is my advice to you, Malfoy," and Malfoy chuckled.

"Well well well... you really don't like her, do you?" He grinned. "Who'd have thought; Hermione Granger doesn't like one of her teachers. Why not, may I ask?"

Hermione punched his arm half-heartedly. "She told me I didn't have what it takes to be good at Divination," she admitted, blushing slightly. This caused Malfoy's face to be plastered in an even bigger smirk than normal.

"Hermione Granger not good at something?" He exclaimed, "My, my, whatever is the world coming to," He chuckled as turned and walked down one of the staircases of Hogwarts.

Hermione stood glued to the spot; watching as Malfoy took the steps two at a time, his blonde hair bobbing up and down. Had she heard him right? Had Draco Malfoy really just paid her a compliment? She thought to herself she must be going mad. First Malfoy was being nice, and secondly, she found herself wondering if Professor Trelawney's mention of the feather plumed bird was all too much of a coincidence... Shrugging, she straightened her robe from her collision with the tipsy seer, and tried to smooth down her hair but to no avail, before she followed Malfoy down the staircase and made her way to her next class; Guidance and Counselling with the new teacher they hadn't had been introduced to yet. This could be interesting, Hermione mused, as she followed the blonde Slytherin into the room, letting the heavy oak door swing shut behind her...  
-** A/N: **I love Professor Trelawney. That is all – Beth :) xx


	11. Have a Detention

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Eleven: Have a Detention**

Harry and Ron had left Hermione a seat on the second to back row; and she squeezed in between the two boys, as they gave her welcoming smiles.

Ron whispered, "How did your talk with McGonagall go? What did she want?" and Hermione found herself being frustrated by the red-head boy, as he hadn't even noticed that her and Malfoy had both become eagles. He didn't know why she'd been kept after class, but to give him credit; at least he was asking. Harry couldn't seem the least bit bothered; he seemed to be doodling a cartoon figure that resembled Ginny. She grinned – Harry had been infatuated with Ron's sister for ages now, and it was only a matter of time before they both gave dating another shot.

"Oh it was nothing, Ron," Hermione lied, not wanting to explain the _Quatuor Pedes_ situation. "McGonagall just wanted to talk to us about our head boy and girl duties." Ron nodded understandingly, and looked disdainfully at Harry's drawing.

"Dude," Ron began looking rather disgusted, "Is that my _sister?"_ Harry grinned sheepishly, causing Hermione to giggle but Ron to just roll his eyes. "For God sake go out with her already. It was bad enough during the summer with the two of you making eyes at each other!" He exclaimed, turning to Hermione for backup.

Hermione nodded in agreement, "He's right, Harry. Everyone knows you two are perfect for each other – just ask her out already!"  
Ron nodded, and then a look of something else crossed his face. "If you do ask her out, though," he said, "I don't want to see you eating each other's faces all the time, if you don't mind." He crossed his arms, leaning back on his stool. Both Harry and Hermione laughed.

"Fine, Ron. I give you my word... so are you sure you're OK with me asking her? I mean she_ is_ your sister," Harry stated. Ron nodded.  
"If anyone's worthy of her, it's you, mate," Ron said grinning. Harry smiled gratefully, and at that point, the classroom door swung open and the teacher made her way to the front.

Immediately the woman reminded Hermione of someone; somebody who Hermione couldn't quite figure out who. She seemed friendly from first glances; she smiled warmly at the class before shuffling with some papers on her desk. A long purple flowing skirt and a heavy black cardigan gave her a frumpy appearance; but the strings and beads around her neck indicated that she was a footloose "free spirit". She had long brown hair – much like Hermione's own in her younger years – except this woman's hair hadn't tamed itself into long lustrous curls, instead it was a frizzy mess that had a pair of overly large spectacles perched in it. She had a thin pale face which suggested to Hermione that she didn't over eat, or spend too much time in the sun for that matter.

Hermione's critique of their new teacher's appearance was interrupted as the woman in question cleared her throat and addressed the class. From the second her first word left her mouth, there was no doubt who this teacher reminded Hermione of. The drawl and lack of focus – appearing "out of this world" – mimicked the manner of Professor Trelawney _exactly_, and her suspicions were confirmed when she introduced herself.

"Hello class," she said, smiling warmly but making her appear a little crazed, causing murmurs around the room. "I am professor Duxhominem; I believe some of you already know my sister, Professor Trelawney?" Malfoy turned around and smirked at Hermione, who spluttered in indignation, covering her outburst up with a cough. "Well yes... she of course teaches divination. I, however, am here to teach you all Guidance and Counselling; as your Headmistress informs me you need it? My Husband used to teach at Hogwarts many years ago – he works at Durmstrang now, though – and he assures me it is a delightful place to work. I hope that you all make my life easy and you are the nice people I know you can be."

Here Ron chuckled under his breath, "Not while Malfoy's around," and he and Harry laughed, not noticing the glare that Hermione shot the two boys, or the fact that the witch did not laugh at Ron's remark.

Hermione refocused her gaze on the teacher. "Many of you, I'm sure, are wondering what the course entails. Let me tell you know that this is not a lesson where you can sit back and mess around. Oh no. Far from; in this class you will explore parts of yourself you never knew existed –" There was a guffaw from the boys in the room at this point, and even a giggle from some of the girls. A pink tinge came to the Professor's cheeks when she realised how this sounded.

She amended her statement, "You will learn about parts of your personality and the personalities of your classmates that you never knew existed. You will learn how to forgive, and put the past behind us. You will learn how crucial learning from your mistakes is, and at the same time you will be provided with basic education and life-skills which will be useful in the adult world you are soon to embark on a journey into." She paused, pulling her spectacles out of her hair and onto her bulbous nose. She scratched her hair absent-mindedly, as she read over her notes.

"Furthermore this is a class where your comfort zones and boundaries will be tested. I do not expect you to enjoy it all the time; as there will certainly be issues of security with many of you. However I do command that you respect my judgement at all times. I _am_ your teacher, after all. Also, you will not be choosing your partners for this year. After I get to know you today, I will arrange a partnering system for next lesson – one which I hope will benefit you all and test your limits."

She paused, and surveyed the class, before continuing.  
"As a starter exercise I would like you to all go round and tell me your name, a bit about you and where you see yourself in five years times. You there," she said, gesturing to Neville. "You can start."

Neville swallowed nervously, "Erm... well... I'm Neville Longbottom –" there were a few snickers from the few remaining Slytherins, despite the fact that they'd heard his surname a hundred times over, now, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I live with my Grandmother, and I'd really like to be a Herbology teacher," he swallowed, and Professor Duxhominem smiled encouragingly.

"Excellent my dear. OK, we'll go along the rows now, so you, next to Neville?"  
Padma smiled, flashing her brilliant white teeth and the teacher, "I'm Padma Patil and Parvati's my twin... I really like fashion so I'd like to be a robe designer when I'm older." She finished with a flick of her hair and the teacher nodded absent mindedly. Typical, Hermione thought, just like Professor Trelawney she'd lost interest already.

Parvati was next, "Well I'm Parvati and I'm older than Padma by seven minutes... I really like charms I'd like to be a charms teacher at Hogwarts," the girl grinned, earning an approving smile from Trelawney's sister.

"I'm Harry Potter," started Harry, shrugging. Everyone knew pretty much everything about him – no thanks to Rita Skeeter, Hermione thought – "I used to live in a cupboard under some stair," he winced at the memory. "I'd like to be an Auror."

It was Hermione's turn, and she creased her forehead in concentration for a few moments. "I'm Hermione Granger and I'm muggleborn. I like reading – and I'm probably one of the only students who have read _Hogwarts a History_ cover-to-cover," she smiled proudly. "I'm not really sure what I'd like to do in the future, but I might like to be a Mediwitch," she finished, and Professor Duxhominem smiled encouragingly.

"So you're Hermione Granger, yes, I've heard great things about you..." she trailed off, leaving a blush to creep onto Hermione's face. Ron was next, and he swallowed, embarrassed, he hated talking to the class.

"Um I'm Ron Weasley. I hate my name and I have lots of brothers and sister, my brothers a Dragon tamer, and I'd like to be keeper for Chudley Canons someday."

There were then a few more students, from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin that Hermione had never made a particular effort to get to know.

She was surprised when Macey Porter, a Ravenclaw, said "I've read every book in the Hogwarts library," and she made a mental note to talk to the girl about books at a later date. They'd reached Malfoy, now, who was sat slouching in his chair, looking unfathomed by having to talk about himself.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he drawled, "and I'm afraid of dying. My family has made its mark in the Wizard world by a Magical Artefact business" Hermione nearly choked at this. She didn't picture Draco Malfoy as the kind of person who would be afraid of anything, and this brought a smile to her face – nor had she known what his parent's income actually entailed. Good to know it wasn't something illegal, like an assassin business, she chuckled to herself. "I'd also like to work in medicine, like Hermione," he finished, looking pointedly at Hermione when he did so.

Ron not so subtly nudged Hermione under the table and whispered, "See, he called you Hermione again!" Causing Hermione to roll her eyes and retaliate.

"Honestly, Ronald; that is my name! Why is it so surprising?" Ron shrugged and threw Malfoy a dirty look.

"I don't know... it's just Malfoy, isn't it? If you ask me, he's up to something."

"If you ask me, Ron Weasley," Hermione snapped, "you're being stupid."

Ron looked hurt, and Hermione apologised. "Sorry. I didn't mean that, I just meant there's nothing to worry about. Maybe he's just decided to try and be nice for a change!"

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the Professor, who cleared her throat noisily. "Excellent, Mr Malfoy. I've heard all about you, too," she added. "I'm sure the Wizarding world will benefit greatly from having you and Miss Granger here, looking after its people." She smiled.

"Now that I know you all a bit better, I have something I wish to broach with you. The results of the battle last summer. I know it's a touchy subject, but it's one which we need to broach and get to the heart off."

Several people in the room looked nervous, others looked like they were about to cry – probably due to having lost close friends or even family in the battle – and Hermione found herself glaring distastefully at the Professor. Those wounds had only just healed – and they didn't need to be reopened so soon or else scars would form, she fretted.

"The Final Battle affected you all, even if you don't like to admit it," Professor Duxhominem continued. "Many of you took an active role in the war," she looked pointedly at Harry and Ron as well as Hermione at this point, whilst the trio glared back resolutely. "Others of you were not so brave, but perhaps more sensible due to the number of casualties."

One of the Hufflepuffs started crying, sobbing into the sleeve of her robe, but it seemed the Professor either hadn't noticed, or didn't care. She obviously wasn't particularly sympathetic, Hermione thought. "Many of you will have been hurt physically, but others of you will have been hurt mentally. We need to overcome these barriers that you have put up, so the next exercise aims to do this. I'm going to pair you off now, and see if I can get a feel for the working dynamics of the glass." She waved her wand and the pupils started glowing a fiery gold colour. Hermione sighed. Too often had she been subjected to a partnering spell, and too often had she disliked the result. Sure enough an elastic feeling began to drag her, as she hurriedly collected her quills and parchments, shoving them into her already over-flowing book bag. She was dragged backwards a few rows and found the elastic sensation to wear off whilst she was next to Malfoy. Typical. Although Malfoy wasn't the same ferret faced git he'd once been, Harry and Ron still didn't know that, and she didn't need to give them more reason to goad the two of them. When Ron, who was stood next to a shy looking Ravenclaw, looked over at Hermione, an outraged look appeared on his face, but Hermione shot him a look that said "leave it, Ron."

Harry was stood next to Luna, who was gazing up at the rafters, no doubt looking for flibbity-gibbet pixie snorkels or something, Hermione thought. Malfoy gave her a curt nod, as she slid onto the stool next to him. The rest of the class paired off evenly; Neville with a gangly Hufflepuff girl with frizzy ginger hair, and the Patils with each other.

"Excellent! I see my pairing charm's worked a treat! But I can't have you two –" she gestured to the Patils, "working together. Padma, you swap with Ron, and then we're sorted." With a little more seat shuffling, the students turned to face the front of the classroom.

"Now. I want to ask your partners about their role in the battle. What was the most courageous thing they did? What was the most cowardly? If they could change anything, what would they do?" She swished her wand and the questions appeared on the chalk board.  
Hermione noticed Malfoy's fists curl up by his side, squeezing so hard that his knuckles were white.

"Professor," Hermione interrupted, and the teacher turned to face her, with a warning look on her face.

"I'm sorry but I don't see how you can expect us to talk about these things; particularly with these partners. Not everyone was on the winning side, as you know... and well... I just think it's silly to embarrass and reopen old wounds." Hermione finished.

A few moments passed, as a few of her surrounding classmates nodded in agreement, whilst Professor Duxhominem paused in thought, regarding Hermione with a look of confusion, before flitting to look at Malfoy.

"Are you questioning my authority, Miss Granger?" There was an amused tone to her voice, Hermione noticed, before shaking her head.

"Not at all Professor... I just really don't feel comfortable-"

"I'm sure yourself and Mr Malfoy will manage the task just fine, Miss Granger -"

"But that's the problem you see, Professor. I don't want to talk about the war, and I DON'T want to talk about it with Malfoy." She glared at the Professor.

"She's right," cut in Malfoy, looking at the teacher with a look of distaste, his knuckles still white. "I'm not proud of my part in the war, and I don't want to talk about certain events that... transpired," he said.

Hermione's mind flitted back to the scene that she'd been trying to keep out of her thoughts for several months now. Bellatrix Lestrange astride her, cackling manically as she drew blood. A blonde youth stood in the corner, arms by his side with an expressionless face apart from a slight look of horror in his eyes. Hermione blinked, willing the image to leave her mind.

"Professor you don't understand-"

"But Miss Granger, I think I do. After all, it's my _job_ to understand." Professor Duxhominem's tone was getting impatient now, and the rest of the class were listening in awe. Hermione arguing with a teacher was one thing, but for Draco Malfoy to back her up? That was another matter entirely.

"I CAN'T TALK TO MALFOY ABOUT IT!" Hermione exclaimed, her tone raised and her breathing hurried, so that the whole class fell into a stunned silence.

"But Miss Granger, you have to. Or else face the consequences."

There were a few moments as the pupil and professor stared each other down.

"She's right," Malfoy said, again. His voice was quiet but he raised it a little. "I shall not talk about the war with Hermione. I don't care what you make me do, but I point blank refuse. It's an invasion of privacy and a violation of my rights. Just wait until my mother hears about this-"

He was cut off by the Professor. "Mr Malfoy I am well aware of the numerous complaints you have made to your parents in the past, and can I just say that they do not faze me in the least. I am merely doing my job, and if you don't like that? Well you can join Miss Granger here in detention tonight in the Forbidden Forest. And you will BOTH have to write an essay, two rolls of parchment long, about why it is important to overcome issues such as the war before we can progress to deeper matters. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione nodded meekly, yet remained holding the Professor's gaze. Malfoy shrugged and sat back in his seat. "Fine," he said, "but I _am_ going to McGonagall about this," he spat.

The teacher looked over at the two students, with their arms folded resiliently. "My, my," she said, smiling. "Who'd have thought the first students to receive detention this year would be the Head Boy and Girl? I'd have expected better, I must say. You two will remain behind after class. For now you can complete any homework you may have, whilst the rest of the class continue with the task that these two students are refusing to complete. I want a roll of parchment on my desk by the end of the week about your partner's role, and tardiness will not be taken lightly," Professor Duxhominem announced, as she swept behind her desk and started writing something.

Slowly but surely, after people began to get over the initial shock of Hermione getting detention and arguing with a teacher, murmurs began to occur across the classroom, which turned to chatter, as the students cautiously broached the topic of the Final Battle.  
Hermione felt a gaze lingering on her, so she turned to face Malfoy, asking more forcefully than necessary, "What?"

"Sorry," he began, "I didn't mean to get you in trouble..." Despite the circumstances, Hermione felt like laughing. Was Draco Malfoy _really _apologising?

"It's not your fault. I started the argument."

"Yes, but if you hadn't, I would've. You didn't need to get yourself in trouble just so you didn't have to hear about the lying deceitful things I did during the war..."

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I didn't do it just for you. Things happened during the war that I'm not that keen on reliving myself," she winced. Draco's eyes filled with realisation when he thought back to that day at Malfoy manor.

"I'm sorry about Bella-"

"Don't be," Hermione pointed out, "It's not like you could've done anything to stop her – you'd have been dead before you could blink," she managed a half smile.

"But still..." Hermione shot him down.

"No buts, Malfoy. Leave it. I don't want to talk about it. Save it for detention when we're away from that bloody wench-" she shot Professor Duxhominem a dirty look

Malfoy chuckled. "My, my, Granger. I'm having a bad influence on you already."

Hermione shot him a dirty look but he just smiled and winked at her, as he sauntered out of the classroom as the bell rang.

"Malfoy," she called after him, "You forgot Duxhominem wants to talk to us..." he stopped still in the doorway, before turning around looking a little embarrassed.

"I so knew that, Granger," he said, smiling, "I was just testing you."

Now it was Hermione's turn to laugh, "Whatever you say, Malfoy."

And she could have sworn she heard him mutter, "So not smooth, Draco," under his breath, causing a small smile to grow on her face as the duo approached the teacher's desk.


	12. Mealworms and Memories

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-** Chapter Twelve: Mealworms & Memories**

After a lecture from Professor Duxhominem about setting an example to their peers, facing up to challenges and respecting the decision of a teacher – all things which Hermione made a mental note to do more in the future – Hermione and Malfoy found themselves walking down a corridor, side by side in amicable silence, with the prospect of a detention that night looming over their heads.

When they reached the Great Hall for lunch, they split off from each other, and no one noticed but Hermione the small smile that Malfoy threw her, as he walked over to sit at the end of the Slytherin table, all alone. Nor did anybody notice the pitying glances Hermione threw in the blonde haired boy's direction as she sat down in her place on the bench with Harry and Ron either side of her, already shoving their faces with the delicious food in front of them.

The rest of the day passed without anything interesting happening; Hermione spent her time in between lessons with Harry and Ron outside by the Quidditch pitch as it was surprisingly nice weather. In the afternoon, after lunch, Hermione made her way to Charms with the two boys, where they spent a relatively easy lesson recapping some of the spells they'd already learnt with a cheery Professor Flitwick.

Hermione went a separate way from the boys as she went with haste to her Muggle studies lesson; which she always found enthralling, whilst Harry and Ron went to their flying lessons. The clock ticked down its hours and dark began to creep over the castle. After a hurried dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, with crème caramel for desert, Hermione rushed down to Hagrid's hut for her detention, pulling her robe tighter around her to try and stay warm as she hadn't had time to change into anything warmer due to getting a little too involved in her Arithmancy homework. Professor Vector liked challenging her students, and that she did; setting Hermione and Malfoy – the two brightest and most competitive students the teacher had ever seen – complex challenges each lesson.

When Hermione reached the hut, Hagrid was sat on the steps whistling tunefully to himself, petting Fang who lay at his feet. "Hi Hagrid," Hermione called out, and he looked up, beaming when he saw her.

"Not like yeh ter get a detention, 'Mione," Hagrid tutted, still smiling. Whatever Hermione had done to earn herself a detention, he was sure the bright witch had her reasons. He wouldn't be judging her. More to the point, he wondered why Malfoy had also landed himself in detention – with Hermione as well! "We're jus' waitin' for Malfoy, an' then we'll be off," the giant smiled, as he enveloped Hermione in a bone-crushing hug.

"So, what've yeh done to get a detention, then, 'Mione?" Hagrid enquired curiously. The new teacher, Professor Duxhominem hadn't been all too specific.

"Oh I got off to a bad start with our Guidance teacher," she explained. "She wanted me to talk about the war with Malfoy... and I just didn't feel comfortable talking about that kind of thing, because, well... its Malfoy, isn't it?" Hagrid nodded understandingly.

"Sounds perfectly reason'ble to me, dunno why yeh've got a detention, to be honest," Hagrid sympathised, and at that moment a certain blonde chose to appear.

"I feel my ears burning," Malfoy smiled, although he still eyed Hagrid with caution. The two of them hadn't been on the best of terms since the Hippogriff incident in the third year.

Hermione laughed, not noticing Hagrid's look of confusion at her new found ease around Malfoy. "That would be because I was telling Hagrid it's your entire fault I'm in detention-"

Malfoy spluttered in indignation, "I did nothing of the sort – I was merely defending you-" Hermione laughed and Malfoy looked down embarrassed, as he realised she had been joking.

Hagrid got over his initial confusion, shaking it off as a thought for later, and said, "Oreyt, well we bes' be off inter the forest, then, before it's too late," leading the way into the Forbidden forest, with a spade in hand.

After walking a fair distance, Hagrid stopped and turned over some soil. "This'll prob'ly do," said the half-giant, as he crouched down and rubbed some of the soil between his finger. "You'sll be diggin' for mealworms for the critters in 'me next class," Hagrid explained. "Jus' use your fingers to dig 'em out of the soil and put 'em in these bags," he instructed, handing the duo a bag each. "They don't burrow tha' far down but they can sometimes be a bit wriggly, so be careful," Hagrid said. "I'll be back in an hour or so, I've a few 'hings I need t'sort out," he explained. "Holler if yous need anything," he said, looking pointedly from Malfoy to Hermione. They nodded, and watched in silence as the bumbling oaf walked away.

As soon as Hagrid was out of earshot, Hermione started laughing. "What's so funny?" Malfoy demanded, as she rolled around on the floor, in hysterics. When she eventually calmed down, rooting in the soil for worms, she explained her mirth.

"I was just thinking about Buckbeak..." she giggled, "Just wait till my father hears about this!" She exclaimed, in a voice that sounded surprisingly like Malfoy. He wore a look of mock outrage. "You were so funny, milking that scratch that Buckbeak gave you for all it was worth."

"I'll have you know that I nearly died that day," reasoned Malfoy, who struggled not to laugh at Hermione's raised eyebrow.  
"How?" asked Hermione.

"Well let me see I could have died from blood loss – that gash was quite deep, you know – or blood poisoning could have taken me from this world-" Hermione was now laughing hysterically, struggling to deposit mealworms in her pouch.

"Oh sureeee you did, Malfoy," she grinned wickedly, "If you ask me you were a bit desperate for attention and you used it to woo the ladies," she chuckled, thinking back to Parkinson clamouring for the blonde Slytherin's attention.

Now Malfoy really was outraged, "I have you know I have never had _any_ trouble making a girl want me, nor would I have to resort to such petty measures for attention..." he trailed off at Hermione's quipped eyebrow, again. "OK, OK, fine. I did milk it a _little _bit, but you'd have done the same."

"Oh but I don't think I would," Hermione retorted.

"Actually, Granger, I think you would. Remember that time you pulled your shoulder? You had Potter and Weasley carry your book bag for a whole two weeks? There's no way you were injured for that long, without needing serious medical attention," Hermione paused, caught for a moment.

"But that's different! There's a difference between exploiting my naive and somewhat dim friends and using an injury to pull!"  
Malfoy chuckled, "So you admit your friends are dimwits, then?" He asked, his smile broadening at Hermione's reaction to what she had just said; her face growing redder by the minute.

"No... Harry and Ron are both very smart, they just don't _try_ all the time," Hermione amended, but Malfoy still regarded her dubiously.

A moment of silence passed, but it wasn't awkward, the slight breeze in the trees could be heard, and the 'plop' of yet another mealworm into a bag.

"Speaking of that Hippogriff," Malfoy started, conversationally, although his tone was rather sly. "I remember when you punched me. Bloody good punch you throw, Granger, as well! My nose hasn't felt the same since!" Hermione couldn't help but grin at the memory.

"Yes," she said, "I remember that too. Has to come up in my top ten moments, along with defeating Lord Voldemort with my friends, of course," she jibed. "But it did feel _bloody_ good," she grinned.

"I'm glad you got so much pleasure out of it, but it really, really hurt my nose," sulked Malfoy, jokingly.

Hermione played along, "Aww poor ickle Malfoy d'you want me to kiss it better?" She inhaled sharply, thinking she may have over stepped the mark, but surprisingly Malfoy just laughed. When he didn't hear her laugh, he looked at her curiously.

"What?" He asked; his tone curious.

"Nothing," she said, furiously hunting in the soil for mealworms.

"You're a pathetic liar, Granger," he pointed out, and she deliberated whether to answer him or not, for a moment.

"OK fine. I was just wondering where the "I'd never let a Mudblood kiss me jibe" was," She explained, sheepishly. Malfoy looked taken aback. Hurt, even.

"I've already told you Granger, I'm sorry. I can't undo the things I've said in the past, but believe me, if I could then I would. That word's a horrible name for someone who's not done anything wrong." When Hermione didn't speak, Malfoy continued.

"You have to understand that I grew up being taught that anyone who wasn't Pureblood was inferior, scum, didn't deserve to walk the same path as me. My Dad homed it into me from birth that that was the way the world works. How was I to know any different when I arrived at Hogwarts so many years ago? How was I to know that the only person who could beat me in every test; the girl who bested me at everything I tried my hardest at, would be what I taught to hate? You're a smart girl, Hermione, and I'm sure you can understand what I'm saying." Hermione smiled at this point, and nodded. Draco Malfoy had just paid her a compliment, and Hermione was focusing on savouring this moment.

"I can't shift the whole blame on my parentage, I know, because even when I was old enough to form my own opinions, and change, I didn't. But I was scared, Hermione, so scared. I was a cowardly, insecure little boy who wanted his Dad's attention more than anything else in the world... and look where that's gotten me. I've got no friends, barely any family left, and no future. Nobody's going to want a Healer who has this," he spat spitefully at he looked down at the tattoo on his forearm.

Hermione sat awed for a few moments. She didn't think Draco Malfoy had said so many words in one go, to her before, without an insult. "That's not true. There are plenty of people who don't think you had any choice. In your position I'd have taken the mark – otherwise you'd have died, Draco," she assured, not noticing the softness his eyes took on when she said his forename. "Loads of people know that. Others just need a bit longer to realise that," she said, thinking of Harry and Ron.

"But I wouldn't call you, or any other muggle-born witch or wizard that atrocious name anymore," explained Malfoy. "My time in Muggle London during the summer opened my eyes to a lot of things. I'm a much more rounded person, now, in fact, I might even go as far as saying I'm likeable," he threw Hermione a wry grin who pretended to think about this for a second. "But I'm really sorry Hermione. I really am. I don't expect forgiveness right away, or at all, even. But it really would be nice. You're one of the only people that's given me the time of day lately, and it'd be nice if we could be friends."

Hermione regarded Malfoy curiously, "But Malfoy," she began. "I already forgave you. When you apologised earlier in the Common room I saw that you'd changed and decided to give you another chance – there's no need to do anymore apologising. I _know_ you're sorry," she said. "Just keep on proving it, and I'll have no problem at all calling myself your friend."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "You're that quick to forgive me?" He asked looking more than a little bit stunned. Hermione laughed.

"Yes, you silly ferret," she grinned, "I'm a very forgiving person. You should count yourself lucky you're trying to get in my good books and not any of the other Gryffindors. They're not so quick to trust," she explained.

"Lucky me... and excuse me, what did you call me?" Malfoy asked looking slightly confused.

"Silly ferret," Hermione chortled; thinking back to the time Malfoy had had an unfortunate run in with Professor Moody. That had been one of the funniest sights she had ever seen – particularly when he had ended down Crabbe's trouser leg – and she couldn't believe Malfoy had forgotten the event. Mind you, if it had of been her she'd have done everything she could not to relive such a traumatic experience. Malfoy's eyes widened in realisation and he shuddered at the memory.

"How _dare _you remind me of that, Hermione Granger, just when I had forgotten, as well! Now I won't be able to sleep for weeks!" He exclaimed, jokingly.

"Too bad... that was one of the funniest things I've ever seen," laughed Hermione, spilling a few mealworms back into the soil. "And can I just say you make a rather nice ferret-" Hermione was cut off as Malfoy reached into his bag of mealworms, looking slightly menacing. Should she be worried, she wondered?

Malfoy flicked a mealworm at her, leaving her mouth to widen in shock. The next one nestled itself in her curls and she screamed as a torrent of mealworms began to rain down on her, in between peals of laughter from Malfoy.

"How. Dare. You. Say. I. Make. A. Nice. Ferret." Malfoy grinned as he flicked mealworm after mealworm after the Gryffindor, whose screams were getting more and more manic, and louder and louder. Malfoy looked around worriedly, and clamped a muddy hand over Hermione's mouth to silence her, with a little more force that perhaps was necessary, knocking her back into the soil in the process, landing half on top of her and emitting an "oomph". "Shush, Granger," Malfoy ordered, "Or else Hagrid will come looking for us and we'll get into trouble – he'll probably think I'm trying to murder you." Hermione stopped screaming, Malfoy's earthy palm still clamped over her mouth, warm and comforting.

Her eyes widened, as he pulled his hand away, but didn't withdraw his face, which with his blonde hair dangling in his eyes, loomed a little too close for comfort to hers. As he removed his hand, his thumb lightly traced the curve of her bottom lip which quivered under his touch. The sound of their heavy breathing could be heard, and nothing else as Hermione looked deep into the once cold and hard, but now warm and curious eyes of Draco Malfoy. A moment passed and the distance between them seemed to shrink, thought Hermione, her heart rate increasing due to the weight of a muscled Slytherin half-atop her.

"Malfoy? Whaddya think yeh doin'?" Asked Hagrid, as he pushed through the undergrowth and found the head boy and girl in a somewhat compromising position. He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Gerrof 'ermione at once," he said. Malfoy rolled off Hermione, and Hermione sat up, slightly embarrassed.

Her knack for coming up with excuses on the spur of the moment escaped her, her breathing still irregular and her heartbeat erratic like it had been moments before. Malfoy came to her rescue, though.

"Sorry, Hagrid," Malfoy explained, "But Hermione got a bat caught in her hair and I was trying to get it out whilst she screamed and I tripped and fell into her," he finished in one breath. Hagrid looked at the pair suspiciously, and Hermione nodded to confirm Malfoy's story. She hoped that Hagrid didn't realise that bats relied on sonar and therefore never got close enough to people to get tangled in their hair. If he did, then they were, for want of a better phrase, screwed.

"Oreyt then, well you's bes' be careful 'round here, then, yous don't wanna be wakin' the spiders'," he said, looking at Hermione with a look that she couldn't quite pertain. "Anyway, it's bedtime, yous best be off t'bed, you've a busy day 'head of you 'morrow," Hagrid explained, taking Hermione's significantly more full mealworm pouch than Malfoy off her, and the Slytherin's also, not really paying much attention to their contents. The three of them walked bag to the castle in silence, tension mounting between Hermione and Draco and Hagrid, the more Hagrid seemed to think about their excuse for their shambolic behaviour. "G'night," Hagrid said, as he left them at the front entrance to the castle, striding off with Fang in tow.

"Goodnight, Hagrid," Hermione called after him, into the darkness.  
-**A/N: **Was that flirting I just witnessed? Interesting… hmm … let me know what you think – Beth :) xx


	13. Cockroach, anyone?

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Thirteen: Cockroach, anyone?**

The castle was eerily quiet as the two students made their way up to their common room, Hermione entering the common room through the portrait entrance before Malfoy. "Nice arse," said Malfoy, who earned himself a slap from Hermione in saying so. He tried defending himself, "Hey, if I'm your friend then aren't I allowed to pay you a compliment?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"There's a fine line and you crossed it," she pointed out. "Speaking of our friendship... Harry and Ron aren't going to take it all too well-"

"Save it Granger, don't you worry. I won't be getting all chummy with you in front of the Gryffindor crew. I'll save it for when we're alone," he whispered, as his brushed his lips past her ear. The moment was ruined as he sprinted past her in a desperate bid to reach the bathroom first, and Hermione realised his seductiveness had all been a ploy to distract her, and she sprinted after him, with him being only a second ahead. They arrived there at the same time, each with a hand on the doorknob staring stubbornly at the other.

"Move, Granger," said Malfoy. "I want a shower. I'm all covered in mud."

"Oh isn't that funny," Hermione retorted sarcastically. "So am I. And mealworms, can I just add, due to _someone_ throwing them at me. I need a shower too. Besides, what happened to ladies first?"

"You're a feminist, right, Granger?" Malfoy enquired, and Hermione nodded, curious to see where this was leading.

"I guess you could say that. Although, not in the bra-burning sense," she added.

Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. "Good to know," he winked, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Would you agree with me that if you support a movement, for example, equal rights for men and women, you cannot exercise old custom such as preferential gender treatment, when it suits you?" He enquired, looking sly.

"Yes," said Hermione. "I agree, you can't pick and choose points of view."

"Exactly! Therefore you have no more claim to this bathroom than I do!" Exclaimed Malfoy triumphantly. Hermione bit her tongue, realising that she'd just dug herself a grave.

"But," Hermione retorted, "Can I point out, that I may not have any more of a claim to it than you, but I certainly have an _equal _claim. You've not won this argument yet, Malfoy. Don't get too cocky," she quipped.

"Hermione I really need a wee. Unless you would like to watch me, right here, and right now, relieve myself against this door, I suggest you let me in the bathroom," Malfoy said, pulling a face that was similar to that of a puppy dog. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Eww gross, Malfoy, I didn't need to know that. Fine, go to the loo, and then we'll continue this argument," she said, stepping away from the door. Malfoy darted inside, and before closing the door, popped his head round.

"Only kidding, Granger, I don't need the loo!" He smiled a wicked smile, causing Hermione to shriek in rage and hammer on the door.

"Let me in you lying, devious, sneaky, deceitful-"

"Foul loathsome little cockroach?" Malfoy cut in, helpfully, in bouts of laughter on the other side of the door.

Hermione let out a cry of rage. "ARGHHH! LET ME IN!"

"Calm down Hermione if you wanted to see me naked _that_ badly then you could have just said..." Malfoy joked.

Hermione calmed down, sighing exasperatedly. "When you get out of there, Draco Malfoy, this is war," she threatened, sinking into one of the plush armchairs and engulfing herself in a novel.

Only the jet of water could be heard, cascading from the shower, and Hermione wriggled in discomfort, jealousy even. She really wanted a shower. More to the point, she had really wanted to win that petty argument with Malfoy. Now she just looked stupid, she sulked.  
From where he stood under the steady stream of hot water, easing out the knots and tensions in his back, Draco Malfoy chuckled. So this was what having friends felt like, he mused. Not just any friend; but smart, pretty and funny Hermione Granger, as well. If only his Dad could see him now, he thought, darkly to himself, as he stepped out of the flow of water, turning it off, and wrapping his lower body in a fluffy green towel emblazoned with the Slytherin logo.

Meanwhile in the castle, in the eighth year common room, Harry was sat at a chessboard with Ron, who ran a hand through his unkempt ginger hair. "Where's 'Mione?" Ron wondered out loud, and Harry shrugged. "Knight to E4."  
"Dunno. Haven't seen her since dinner – she rushed off to detention with Hagrid as soon as she'd eaten pudding," said Harry.

Neville looked up from the Herbology book that she was reading. "Hermione? Oh I saw her ages ago, walking back up to the castle with Malfoy and Hagrid, after I finished helping Professor Sprout in Greenhouse 4," he explained, turning back to his book.

Ron looked at Harry, who looked back at Ron with a look of curiosity. "Not like Hermione not to say goodnight," said Ron.  
Harry nodded in agreement. "Maybe she was just really tired after having to put up with Malfoy for a whole hour and a half," he suggested, and Ron shrugged.

"I'm not so sure, mate. Hermione's been weird around Malfoy; keeps saying he's changed. I reckon he's up to something."

"Yeah seems like utter bullshit to me," Harry said. "Malfoy's a git and he always will be – I don't care what kind of mystical look-at-me-I'm-a-new-person facade he's gotten Hermione to fall for, he's not fooling me. We'll keep an eye on him." Harry moved a chess piece forward.

"I'm glad somebody agrees!" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione bit my head off earlier when I told her I thought he was up to something. Then again she's been short with me ever since we broke up..." he trailed off. "D'you think thing will ever be the same, Harry?" Ron asked, earnestly.

Harry shrugged, suddenly really into the chess game in front of them. "I don't know mate, I don't know. You still like her, right?" Ron gave him a look that said "What do you think?"

"Of course I do! I've been in love with her for half of my bloody life!" Ron exclaimed, "I just don't know when, or if, she's going to come around and see that she's still in love with me too."

Harry patted Ron on the back reassuringly. "It'll be fine, mate. Things will work out between you two the way they're meant to, just you wait and see," Harry said encouragingly, and Ron shook his head.

"I hope so, Harry, I hope so."

"Where is Hermione's common room?" asked Harry, after they'd put the chest board away and were sitting in armchairs toasting their feet over the fire; Ron's threadbare socks with a hole in letting his big toe peep through. Ron thought back through their conversations over the course of the day for a minute, before shaking his head.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She was probably so busy with memorising her timetable for the whole year that she forgot to tell us," Ron joked. Harry nodded.

"We'll ask her tomorrow. That way we can spy on Malfoy more easily, as well," Harry said, already formulating a spying mission in his head.

Ron nodded in agreement, his eyelids heavy with tiredness. "That we will... night Harry, I'm off to bed."

"Night, Ron," Harry said, as the redhead climbed the stairs to the sleeping quarters. The common room fell silent and the tick-tock of a clock could be heard above the noise of the flames crackling in the hearth. Harry fell asleep, the warmth from the embers enveloping him in a shroud of slumber, his neck lolling from where he sat in the plush red armchair, as the night progressed...


	14. Green Looks Good On You, Granger

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Fourteen: Green Looks Good On You, Granger**

Hermione looked up from her book as she heard the bathroom door click shut. Malfoy made his way past her, wearing nothing but a fluffy green Slytherin train, with a trail of hair leading up to his navel, and Hermione found her eyes glancing over his lean, muscular figure, as she took in the sculpted six pack, she didn't notice the smirk that grew on Malfoy's face as she stared in appreciation. Hermione had heard the girls talking – seeing as Malfoy had a tendency to sleep around a bit, he majority of the girls in the school had at _least_ seen him topless. Hermione wasn't one of these girls – until now – but none of it had ever really registered. He was beautiful, in all honesty. "Take a picture, Granger," Malfoy smirked, "Maybe it'll last longer."

She spluttered in indignation. She couldn't believe she'd been ogling – least of all caught ogling _Draco Malfoy_ of all people! "I wasn't-"Malfoy cut her off with a disbelieving quirk of his eyebrow, and Hermione found her cheeks flushing a rosy shade of red.

"Don't lie, Granger," Malfoy chuckled, before rounding the corner to his room. He came out a few minutes later wearing a pair of plain pyjama trousers and a tightly fitting white t-shirt – this time Hermione was careful to avert her gaze. "So are you having a shower today, or what, Granger?" Malfoy jibed, as Hermione realised that the bathroom was now vacant and leapt up off the sofa in her eagerness to get clean, not noticing the table in front of her, which sent her sprawling across the floor. Fortunately, nothing was hurt except her pride. She picked herself up, refusing to look at Malfoy, swept into the bathroom and locked the door, trying to drown out the raucous laugh Malfoy was emitting on the other side of the door.

Under the torrent of water in the shower, Hermione let her mind wander, letting the jet of water wash her thoughts down the plug hole. She thought back over the night. It was one of the many civilised conversations she'd managed to hold without Malfoy insulting her she'd had lately, and just thinking about it put a smile on her face. It was nice, having somebody who didn't have to talk about Quidditch all the time; having somebody like-minded (as Hermione recognised that aside from the obvious differences, Malfoy was actually very similar to herself) to hold a decent conversation with. Plus there was the banter – that never seemed to get old – and Hermione prided herself on her witty insults she traded with Malfoy in a more joking manner than they had previously. She was glad that dynamic of their relationship hadn't changed despite Malfoy's newfound persona – they still insulted each other like they had in their early years of Hogwarts.

Then there were Harry and Ron and their clear aversion to Malfoy. She found it preposterous that they believed that he has ulterior motives behind being nice to Hermione – and that they refused to accept that he was just being nice because he'd seen the error of their ways. She shrugged, boys will be boys, she thought. She was frustrated with the dynamics of her friendship with the two boys; more and more it seemed like she was just a useful tool when it came to helping them with their homework, or giving an answer in class, and less and less it seemed like the two boys actually enjoyed her company.

Then there was Ginny. The ginger witch was still distant and had been ever since Hermione had confessed her feelings to Ginny about not liking Ron in that way anymore – and of course Harry's feelings weren't one sided, Hermione knew that Ginny had been lusting after Harry all summer; but for some reason Ginny no longer talked to Hermione about those kinds of things. But their relationship was gradually getting better, Hermione noted, thankfully, as Ginny came to realise what an insufferable git Ron had been when Hermione had dated him. She hoped things would be back to normal before soon, anyway.

Neville and Luna were the same as always – loved up as ever – but their friendship to Hermione had been unfaltering to Hermione ever since the final battle; they'd exchanged letters between the three of them all summer. It had kept Hermione sane throughout the breakup with Ron. Then there were these god damned Guidance & Counselling lessons which Hermione wasn't sure how she would be able to tolerate for the whole year – she had hated Professor Trelawney enough, now she felt like this was just cruel, imposing her sister on Hermione in her final year. But she would pull through; she would remain strong and keep her mouth sealed as she just grinned and bore it. Perhaps her reaction this morning had been a little bit over the top. Nevertheless, she didn't like being reminded of the events that transpired at Malfoy manor... and there she was, back to Malfoy again. No matter which directions her thoughts went off in, they somehow always looped around and came back to the blonde haired Slytherin who had Hermione completely and utterly bamboozled.

How could somebody change so quickly – how was it humanely possible? Could she trust him? Did she _want_ to trust him? Why had she been so quick to forgive for all his misdeeds? Hermione asked herself all these questions as she massaged cinnamon shampoo into her lustrous curls, only working herself up even further. Who cares, she thought. He's clearly changed for the better, and he's sorry – no need to question his motives, or your own, she thought. You'll end up sounding like Harry and Ron if you're not careful, Hermione told herself.

As she climbed out of the shower and looked around for her towel, Hermione realised in horror that in her haste to enter the bathroom she'd forgotten her towel. It wouldn't have been a problem if she had her wand, but when she was reading she'd taken of her mud spattered robes, which had her wand in its pockets, so she couldn't wrap those around her. She stood dripping and at utter loss at what to do. She couldn't go out there naked, obviously, but nor could she stand here dripping until she dried off naturally, either.

She spied a pile of fluffy green towels on a nearby radiator and she weighed up her option. Borrow one of Malfoy's towels and face his wrath, or die of pneumonia. She made her choice and bound her body in one of the green fluffy towels, noting just how luxurious the soft cotton felt against her skin, unlocking the door and trying to walk inconspicuously past Malfoy's chair before he noticed she'd borrowed one of his towels. _Creak._ One of the floorboards decided to creak at the worst possible time, and Hermione mentally cursed. Damned floorboards. Malfoy looked up, raising an eyebrow as he did so, noting Hermione's attire.

"Well, well, well, Granger," Malfoy said, as he got up and put his book on the coffee table. Hermione pulled the towel tighter around her protectively, folding her arms across her chest defensively, not noticing the effect this had on her cleavage. Malfoy's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "I must say that green makes you look positively _stunning,_" he breathed, coming closer to Hermione, pushing her further and further back until she was backed up against the wall.

Hermione stood nervously, not knowing whether the Slytherin was toying with her or not. She just wanted in her pyjamas as quickly as possible. Her cheeks tinged pink, and she dropped her hands to her side, awkwardly. "But I must say," Malfoy continued as he came to stand directly in front of her, "You'd look better without the towel," he laughed, as outraged, Hermione smacked him, her hands flailing.

Malfoy chuckled deeply, and grabbed Hermione's hands. "Now, now, Granger, violence isn't the answer," he grinned, as still holding her wrists, he pinned her against the wall, holding her arms above her head whilst his other arm propped him against the wall so he was leaning over Hermione, his face mere inches from hers.

"It is when you treat me like you so all the other girls in this school," Hermione pointed out. "I don't appreciate being objectified," she remarked, snidely, even when Malfoy had her in such a compromising position.

"And how do I treat all the other girls, then?" Malfoy asked, amused. Her adjusted Hermione's wrists slightly, so he wasn't holding them quite as tightly.

"Well for one, they'd all fall for that ridiculous "without the towel" remark... and then you'd have no trouble getting them to jump into bed with you," Hermione pointed out. Malfoy nodded, reluctantly agreeing with her.

"But who says I wasn't just being sarcastic, Granger," he said, "You were the one to assume I was trying to get you to jump into bed with me-"

Hermione spluttered, "No I wasn't it was clear what you were sugg-"

Now Malfoy cut her off, "Well if you're offering, Granger... I wouldn't mind being the one to pop your cherry, as the expression goes..."

Hermione wriggled under his grip, being careful not to let her towel fall down. "I have you know I am _not_ a virgin!" Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised at this.

"You're not?"

"No!" Hermione was a little miffed. Why did everyone always assume that the bookworm would be the last one to put out? In fact, she hadn't even lost it to Ron – she'd been so caught up in her lust for Victor Krum that she hadn't been hard to convince, back in fourth year. Not that Ron or Harry knew this, she thought to herself, wickedly. She hadn't even told Ginny, her best friend, that Victor Krum had been the first one to win Hermione – and she wasn't intending too, either. She wasn't proud of the fact that she'd lost it so young, but at the same time she couldn't help but think how impressed Malfoy would be, if he knew that Hermione had lost her virginity at 15 – and to the Bulgarian Quidditch star, no less!

"I have to admit, Granger, I didn't think Weasley would be brave enough... but good on him, I guess. Pity you couldn't have gone for someone with a bit more... class... though-"

Hermione cut him off with a look. "I'll have you know but I didn't lose it to Ron, actually. And he's not as bad as you make him out to be, although he's not the _best_ shag I've ever had..." She trailed off, realising that she'd probably said too much.

"You're talking as if you've had experience," Malfoy grinned wickedly. "My, my, Hermione Granger isn't as innocent as everyone thought," he said when her blush answered his initial statement. "If I may be so bold... who was the guy you lost it to?" Now it was Hermione's turn to laugh.

"No offense Malfoy but if I haven't told Ginny I hardly think I'll tell you, do you?"

He feigned a look of hurt, "But Hermione," he moaned in a sucking-up voice, just causing the brown-haired witch to giggle. Grovelling suited Malfoy, she thought.

"I'll tell you if you earn it. You'll just have to prove yourself worthy of knowing, first," Hermione grinned, and Malfoy paused in thought for a moment, before nodding.

"Fine. You've got a deal. I can't believe this..." he grinned, "Who'd have thought, you of all people, Granger?"

Hermione shot him daggers with her eyes, and he amended his statement. "Well," he explained sheepishly. "You're Hermione Granger; perfect goody-two-shoes wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"You'd be forgetting I helped defeat Lord Voldemort," Hermione pointed out. "Besides you don't know me that well. If you did, you'd know I'm not as innocent as everyone presumes."

"Intriguing," Malfoy grinned, "Well you can be sure I'll only corrupt you further," Malfoy assured her. Hermione grinned.

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure of that, Malfoy," she laughed wickedly.

A few moments passed, and only then did Hermione and Malfoy noticed how close their bodies had become, the fact that there was only a towel and a thin t-shirt between their skin, and the fact that Malfoy's hands were still encasing her own. Neither of them moved, instead they looked into each other's eyes in one of those terribly movie clichéd ways of staring into the other persons soul.

But that's really what it was like; it was as if Hermione was seeing Draco Malfoy for the first time, now that his guard was down and he wasn't trying to pretend to be someone he wasn't.

Malfoy broke the silence, just when it seemed that a kiss would be inevitable. "You've got nice eyes, Granger," he said softly, as he loosened his grip on Hermione, and stepped backwards somewhat sheepishly.

Hermione looked at the Slytherin boy for a long time before replying, "Thanks. Makes a change not to have you call me a variation of "filthy Mudblood"," she grinned cheekily, as she started making her way to her room. She paused outside her door and turned to look at Malfoy who was looking at her in a weird way. "Night, Malfoy," she said as she began to turn the handle.

"Wait," Malfoy said, as he jogged to catch up with her before she entered her room. "D'you think we can be friends this year, Hermione?"

"I think that's definitely a possibility," grinned Hermione, "considering I'm already counting you amongst my friends this year," she admitted.

The smile that appeared on Malfoy's face was one similar to a little kids face on Christmas morning, and he said gleefully, "Thank you, it means a lot. Night Hermione."

Hermione was halfway into her room when she replied, "Night Draco," but Malfoy heard, and the fact that she'd finally called him by his first name put a smile on Malfoy's face that lasted the whole night through; from right when his head hit the pillow, until he woke the next morning, sunlight streaming through the window.


	15. Tell Me the Truth

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Fifteen: Tell Me the Truth**

"Hermione?" The voice roused Hermione from her slumber slightly, but she rolled over and pulled the duvet over her face.

"Go away Malfoy," She groaned. There were a few seconds before she sat up with a start. "Malfoy! What the hell are you doing in my room?" She exclaimed, and Malfoy jumped back in terror out of fear of what this bed headed witch would do to him.

"Calm down Granger," he said coolly. "It's five to nine. We've got potions in five minutes, you slept in. I just thought I should let you know."

Hermione composed herself, doing her best to smooth down her unkempt birds nest frantically. "Oh. Thanks," she said sheepishly. "You go ahead, tell Slughorn I'll be late, I'll only be two minutes," she said.

Malfoy shook his head. "No, I'll wait for you. I've got the perfect excuse, don't worry. And take as long as you need, I'm not in any hurry to get there," he smiled.

"Oh... okay... thanks," Hermione said against, whilst rubbing sleep from her eyes. Malfoy left the room, shutting the door behind him as he went, and the second he did, Hermione frantically scrambled around the room looking for a clean set of robes. Pulling them on and doing up her tie haphazardly, she scrambled her books for the day together and shoved them in her book bag. Whenever she was late was the only time her books got treated badly.

Within the space of about five minutes, Hermione had cast a "tidy up" spell over herself so now her hair, although still slightly bushy, fell in curls rather than frizz, and she looked like she hadn't just woken up five minutes ago – the spell had straightened her uniform and ordered her books in chronological order in her bad.

Upon exiting her bedroom, she smiled at Malfoy who gave her a curt nod and a once over, "My my, Granger," he smiled as he looked at her from head to foot. "You weren't lying when you said you'd be ready in five minutes," he grinned, "and a good job you've done too!"

"My my Malfoy," Hermione said, mocking the tone of voice he'd just used on her. "Is that a compliment from the King of Slytherin himself?" She laughed at Malfoy pretended he didn't know what she was on about; keeping up his charade and telling her she must be crazy, all the way to the Potions classroom.

They walked briskly down the now empty corridors; everyone else was now in lessons, and Hermione was becoming increasingly anxious. She hated being late to lessons, and therefore, very rarely was. In fact, Hermione Granger was usually the student staring at the late comer with a look of distaste!

"Calm down, Granger," Malfoy said, amused at her anxiety. "Let me handle it, OK?" She nodded, and he pushed open the heavy oak door of their potions classroom.

"Well well, here they are," Professor Slughorn announced warmly, at the sight of his two favourite students now that Harry wasn't so good, "I told you Mr Weasley there was no reason to worry," at this Ron turned a nice shade of beetroot red. Hermione glared at him. "I'm sure Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy have a perfectly good reason for their late arrival, haven't you?" He asked them, a curious smile playing on his face. Hermione did her best not to look sheepish and Malfoy spoke.

"We were talking to McGonagall about Head Boy and Girl duties and we lost track of time, she sends her apologies, Professor," Malfoy stated, without a quiver of hesitation in his voice. Hermione pretended not to be outraged that he'd used her favourite teacher as a cover – what if Slughorn checked with McGonagall at a later date? She shook it off. Surely he wouldn't question her and Malfoy; after all it wasn't as if they had a reputation for tardiness. Sure enough, the Professor smiled warmly and gestured to the only free bench in the room; right at the front under his nose.

"That's good enough for me," he smiled, and once the two students were seated, he explained. "I'd like you and Malfoy here to work together... despite any _differences_ you may have," he explained. "As you know Veritaserum must mature for a full lunar phase, which is why I started the batches off during the holidays," he explained "However the rest of the steps are quite complicated and I want you to get the hang of them for yourself. In front of you, Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy is the basic potion. By the end of the lesson," he said, turning to address the rest of the class, "I am expecting a sufficient draught of Veritaserum from each of you. If it is accurate, you will be allowed to test it on your partner as a reward. Do I make myself clear?" The class nodded. He turned his back and busied himself whilst the class turned their attention to their simmering cauldrons, the students already at various stages.

"You're so not testing that on me," Hermione said. "Because we _will_ make a perfect draft. I'm just warning you know, there's no way you're getting anything out of me," Her tone was quite threatening, and would have scared Harry or Ron. Malfoy, however, was just amused.

"Calm down, Granger," he said cheerfully, "We're the two brightest people in here. Of course our potion will be perfect. As for me finding out your deepest darkest secrets, we'll see."

The duo set about brewing the potion; whilst Hermione chopped lacewing flies and dropped them into the liquid, turning it a deep crimson colour, Malfoy crushed beetlewigs until their juices oozed out. This went into the pewter cauldron; and a cinnamon smell began to waft from the cauldron in front of them – good signs, as this was what their Advanced Potions Book said would happen. On the other side of the classroom, a green cloud enveloped Harry and Ron, and they were wafting the noxious fumes away, as the stink of Sulphur alerted Professor Slughorn.

"Boys, whatever have you done?" He exclaimed, pouring Essence of Saltweed into the cauldron, reducing it to a simmering mess rather than toxic cloud. "You weren't meant to add the beetlewig juice until after the lacewing flies, you nit!" He exclaimed angrily. "Whatever happened to you, Potter? I thought you were meant to be good at potions?"

Harry shrugged apologetically, and Hermione couldn't help but throw him and "I told you so" look over the top of her Potion. He rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her, causing her to laugh. Malfoy looked over at Harry and Ron and smiled. Now that Potter wasn't so good, it was neck and neck between him and Granger for #1 spot at Potions. He had vowed to beat her, this year, and now found it ironic how they were working together.

As the warning bell rang, and Hermione had just finished stirring the potion clockwise, as Malfoy added a sprig of Lavender, their potion turned the clear and odourless liquid, just like it should be. A smile spread across Hermione's face; she loved getting things right.

As the Professor perused the classroom, his facial expression changes were really something to watch; ranging from one of utter disgust at the tar like liquid in the bottom of Seamus' cauldron to one of mild appreciation at Neville's and Luna's, to a look of disappointment as he passed Harry's bench, until finally, he broke out into a genuine grin when he came to Malfoy's and Hermione's bench. He stirred the transparent liquid lovingly and exclaimed, "Perfect! Sheer perfection! Excellent, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy. Fifty points to Gryffindor and Slytherin! You make an excellent duo, may I just say – this is wonderful. Miss Granger, if you would be so kind," Slughorn asked, holding out a ladle. Hermione looked slightly panicked for a moment. But not wanting to disobey her Professor, she took a small sip of the mixture.

"Mr Malfoy, ask her what you will, whilst I want the rest of the class to tidy up. I'm disappointed in the rest of you; in all honesty I would have expected more than one decent brew," he explained. The rest of the class set to work packing the ingredients away and lugging the pewter cauldron's back into the store rooms, not really paying any attention to Hermione and Malfoy, who were sat at the front; Malfoy with a look of devilishness and Hermione one of worry.

"What to ask, what to ask," grinned Malfoy, truly relishing in the moment. He paused in thought for a few moments, whilst Hermione sat fiddling with her hands worriedly, making Malfoy wonder what she had to hide. Malfoy thought back to the night before, and his eyes lit up with glee. He knew what he wanted to ask her, oh yes. He'd be the possessor of knowledge that the ginger Weasley girl didn't even have... oh this was just brilliant. He'd have to make sure he bought Professor Slughorn and extra-large box of Crystallised Pineapple for Christmas, after this, he grinned to himself.

"Just ask me your question already, Malfoy." Hermione said impatiently, the glint in his eye was worrying her somewhat.  
"Fine then Granger... who'd you lose it to?" He grinned outlandishly, and Hermione's eyes widened. No. He hadn't, he wasn't... of all questions, why that one, she sighed.

"Krum-" it was out of her mouth before she could stop in, and she clapped a hand over her mouth afterwards. Malfoy's face was so funny that Hermione wished she could have taken a picture; if she hadn't have been so embarrassed, that was.

"_Viktor Krum?"_ Malfoy asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "As in the _world famous Bulgarian Quidditch player_?" Hermione nodded meekly, her cheeks absolutely red.

"Did he know you were-?" Hermione didn't need to hear the question, she nodded. Of course he knew it was her first time.

"How old were you?" Malfoy asked, looking at Hermione with a newfound sense of awe and amazement.

"Fifteen," she admitted, and Malfoy sat down on the bench next to Hermione, careful not to knock the Cauldron of the perfect concoction over. He shook his head in wonder, bracing himself against the desk with his toned forearms.

Hermione could barely look at him. "Who'd have known... well... no wonder Weasley didn't do it for you after _Krum_. I mean, how can any man compete with him?" Hermione opened her mouth before she could stop herself, again.

"To be honest," she said, wincing at the irony in those words, "he wasn't that much better than Ron. Too bothered about his own needs to really satisfy me. But Ron was awful," here Hermione tried to stop herself from speaking, but to no avail. Malfoy was grinning broadly, ecstatic at how easy it was to find out things from her. "His kisses were too wet and slobbery, he sweated _far_ too much, and he made these _awful _grunting noises; sounded like a farmyard animal. Plus he couldn't go for very long, either," she added. "Stop it Malfoy. I don't want to talk about it," she said, suitably embarrassed. Slughorn had disappeared somewhere, as well, just when she needed him.

"You take some of the potion," Hermione ordered, and Malfoy, being a diplomatic person, thought it only fair after the amount of embarrassment he'd subjected her to. He took a tentative sip of the potion. "Who did you lose yours to?" Hermione asked, not really fussed, but just wanting to put him through the same discomfort as he had her.

"Pansy Parkinson," he shuddered, "Fifth year, she came at me like some rowdy dog and I could barely bat her off. Not that I really tried, of course," he added, "A shag's a shag."

Hermione laughed at the idea of Parkinson, with her pug like face, pouncing on Malfoy like a rabid dog. "And how many-"  
Malfoy cut in. "If you're going to ask me how many girls I've been with, please don't."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Why not?"

Malfoy cursed the truth serum. "Because it'll screw my reputation up for good." He looked at Hermione pleadingly, but she spared him no mercy. Why should she, he hadn't, for her.

"How many partners have you had?"

Malfoy groaned and tried to shut his mouth with his hands. "One."

Hermione looked confused. She must have misheard him.

"What?" she asked, utterly confounded. He was Malfoy; King of Slytherin, and King of the bedroom, apparently. According to just so many of her female friends. What? His answer made no sense.

"One. Just Pansy," he admitted, sheepishly.

"Then how? What? Why does everyone think you sleep around so much, then?" Hermione had never been more puzzled in her entire life.

"I had a reputation to keep, you know." Malfoy said. "I was the leader of the gang; I had girls willing to fall into bed with me. But that's not what I wanted. I regret what happened with Pansy; I wanted to first time to be special, with someone I loved. Not with some horny teenage girl who couldn't leave me alone for a minute. But I'd lost it to her, there was no going back. After that, I had to keep up appearances. I'd woo girls, flirt with them, kiss them, take them to my chambers for a suitable period of time so everyone would assume we were, erm, at it," he admitted, embarrassed. "Then I cast an illusionment charm on them; leading them to believe that we'd had wild, hot, passionate sex and that I was some sort of sex God," he finished, looking absolutely mortified.

Hermione, try as she would, could not stop laughing. At all. Malfoy, king of sex and girls, was even less experienced than Hermione Granger, the school's bookworm. "It's all lies? You can't make a girl orgasm within the first two minutes?" Hermione giggled.  
He shook his head, and cursed the stupid truth serum once more.

"Okay, then, Granger, it's payback time," he snarled. "Do you masturbate?" He asked her, and Hermione's eyes widened.

She nodded, before she could stop herself, blushing crimson.

"How often?" He asked, regaining his confidence by the minute. Now they were more even, he thought to himself. Neither one of them would be divulging this information out of fear of what the other would spread.

"Depends when I need release," Hermione explained. "For example, if I'm not sleeping with anyone, I see to things... just like I bet you do," she pointed out.

He nodded, amused. "My, my Granger. You're dirtier than I thought. Looks like you'll be the one corrupting me, after all."

The bell rang, and Slughorn emerged from the supply closet to dismiss the class, and he told Malfoy and Hermione to wait in this room until the effects of the Potion wear off – should only be a few more minutes – and then he leaves to go to the staffroom.

"I can't believe it." Hermione shook her head, "I can't believe that you went to all that effort just to keep up appearances!" She exclaimed. "Why was it so important to you?"

"I admired my father very much, I guess I just wanted to prove myself to him," he explained.

"What, by sleeping around?" Hermione asked disparagingly. He shook his head.

"No, by being popular. The whole sex god thing was a ploy to get female admirers and maybe, just maybe, get my Dad to notice me." She threw him an apologetic look, for making him think of his Dad.

"I can't believe you lost it before me!" He exclaimed, somewhat miffed. "And to an International Quidditch star, at that!"

Hermione smiled wryly. "If it's any consolation, I wish I hadn't, though." She shrugged sadly. "I wish I could've saved it for someone I really loved, but what's done is done."

"Krum's a lucky guy," Malfoy admitted. "I remember the Yule Ball," he explained. "All the boys there could barely take their eyes off you. You looked absolutely ravishing in that dress."

Hermione blushed at the compliment. "I'm sure that's not true – I mean I know I shocked a _few_ people. But not everyone." She argued.

"No, it was definitely everyone," Malfoy countered. "Every boy that night wished they had you on their arm."

"Even you?" asked Hermione, timidly.

"Even me," Malfoy admitted, bowing his head in defeat.


	16. Have Your Wits About You

Disclaimer/A/N: Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*. Enjoy my spin on things and please review – writers are constantly looking to better themselves. Plus reviews have this magical ability to make me write faster… just kidding *not really*. Enjoy – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Sixteen: Have Your Wits About You**

"Who's teaching Defence against the Dark Arts?" Ron asked curiously over a plate of chicken and peas. Hermione rummaged in her bag and pulled out her timetable, which she hadn't really had a chance to look at yet, she found the next lesson and her eyes boggled.

"Professor Krum." She turned to Harry worriedly. "Oh but it can't be Viktor, can it?" She looked frantically at the staff table; no International Quidditch champion, but nor were there any new faces, either.

Harry shook his head. "It won't be Krum, will it? He does have a job, you know," he pointed out, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "It's probably just some relative of his," Ron added helpfully, and Hermione forgot about the matter until they arrived outside the classroom.

"Velcome to Defence against ve Dark Arts," a familiar voice drawled. Krum was a few inches taller and looked a bit tired, but nonetheless, he was unmistakably the Bulgarian Quidditch player Hermione had dated back in her fourth year. Hermione found herself blushing to the roots of her hair, and looked at everywhere but the Professor in front of her.

"I am sure you are all vundering vhy I am here," he stated. "I 'av obtained an injury which means I am unable to play for ve meantime. Your headmistress offered me the post, and I accepted. Any questions?" He asked, boring into the eyes of every student in the room. Ron was looking somewhat disgruntled, whilst the rest of the boys in the room were gazing up at their new Professor with awe. When Krum's eyes found Hermione he smiled. She smiled back, suitably embarrassed.

From the other side of the room, where all the Slytherins were sat, Malfoy was doing his absolute best not to laugh at the pure irony of this situation.

What were the chances? He wouldn't let Granger live this down, he thought to himself, as he caught her eye. She looked at him pleadingly, and he refrained from doing anything. But he wanted to. Of course he wanted to antagonise her and wind her up about how she'd lost her virginity to this guy. But he was meant to be trying to be nice, so he refrained himself. But that didn't mean he didn't want to. Because he did.

"Okay vell today ve vill be looking at wandless magic," he said, straining to pronounce the "w" in "wandless". He flicked his wand and the lesson objectives scrawled themselves on the board in chalk. "I vould like a volunteer to demonstrate with." Ron cowered in his seat, so of course, the Quidditch star picked him, and Hermione felt sorry for him as he made his way nervously to the front; pulling his robes around him in the way that he did when he was afraid.

"When I attack I vant you to defend yourself with wandless magic. OK?" Ron nodded, timidly, and he was thrown backwards by Krum's spell. Krum shook his head. "You have to _feel_ the spell," he told Ron, and not wanting to subject him to further humiliation, he picked another person. This time, hands went up, and Krum chose the hand belonging to a blonde Slytherin Hermione had become very well acquainted with over the past few days.

Krum attacked once again, and Malfoy, with a look of sheer concentration on his face, deflected the spell; it bounced off a shield he had created around him. Krum nodded this time, pleased, causing Ron to sigh in annoyance. Everyone always had to do things better than him. "Excellent, Mr-?"

"Malfoy." Malfoy said, in his familiar drawl.

"Ahh yes. Vell, Mr Malfoy, it seems you are very accomplished in vandless magic. Vould anybody like to rise to the challenge of trying to beat Mr Malfoy here?

No hands went up. Hermione looked at Malfoy amusedly. He seemed to be trying to psych her out. How cute. She raised her hand, a small smile playing at her lips. Krum looked surprised.

"_Hermy-own-ninny?"_ She tried to suppress rolling her eyes. For goodness sake, she thought. "Hermione" was not even that hard to say – she couldn't see why Krum had such a problem trying to pronounce it!

Hermione got to her feet, tucking her wand into the folds of her robes. She smiled cheekily at Malfoy – a look which didn't go unnoticed by Harry and Ron – and took her stance.

"You sure about this, Granger?" Malfoy chuckled. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt now, would we." He grinned cheekily back at her, and the Quidditch star stood back, slightly confused but preparing the spectacle that was about to go down.

"Oh course I'm sure, Malfoy... give me your best shot – don't holdback just because I'm a _girl_." She mocked, the rest of the class sat in a combination of silence and confusion. Ron was too busy glowering at Krum to really notice the spectacle before him, or else he would have probably intervened, Hermione thought to herself.

"Take you marks," Krum said, regarding the two students with curiosity. "Ven you're ready," he announced.

Hermione sent the first spell spiralling towards Malfoy, and will a sullen look he deflected it back – Hermione's robes started to singe at the bottom and she put them out with a small stare. _Agumenti _was quite an easy spell to perform wandless because it relied on the elements – so this didn't cause Hermione any stress. Malfoy attacked next, and Hermione smiled devilishly as she deflected the spell and Malfoy's hair stood on end like a porcupine and hedgehog. The rest of the class, who had been sitting in silence watching the scene unfold until now, laughed animatedly. Very rarely was the Slytherin King ever lacking in composure; but now was certainly one of these occasions.

Malfoy tried smoothing his blonde locks down in dismay – how dare Hermione upset his bad boy image – but this only made them twice as bad. He now looked like something from ABBA and Hermione could barely cast another spell from laughing so hard. Malfoy took this as a window to fire another spell at Hermione; and she gasped as her robes turned inside out. This didn't earn the Slytherin many laughs because the class were still giggling at his hair, but it did enable Hermione to gather her wit about her. She fired the next spell at Malfoy and with a flash his robes were gone and in the place of them he was wearing a ballerina's outfit. He shot Hermione a look of pure evil, as he transfigured his robes back to normal.

By now the class was in absolute hysterics, and even Krum had a smile on his face at this strange display of antics. Since when were the Slytherin boy and _Hermy-own-ninny _friends? In fact, if Krum was assessing the situation correctly... no. They couldn't possibly be. Or could they? Were they flirting? This was the question running through a number of student's minds as they watched the duo evade the other's spells. Malfoy cast a spell that Hermione couldn't deflect in time that transfigured her hair into an actual birds nest, and a little blue bird flew round her head disorientating the witch before she destroyed it and transfigured her hair back to normal, albeit a little more messy.  
Spell after spell the duo flung and reflected, sparks and flashes and even the occasional bang starting anyone watching to attention; hair changed colour, limbs were transfigured, clothes were turned into ridiculous costumes you might have found at a fancy dress shop, and Malfoy and Hermione generally took every opportunity to humiliate and mock the other – but not once did it turn spiteful. Whilst their looks were full of concentration as they focused on creating original ideas, and deflected spells, there was also a sparkle in both of their eyes; a glint of amusement and fun. Never was their duel malicious, strangely enough for the Queen of Gryffindor and the King of Slytherin.

Suddenly a smile spread across Hermione's face, but the class struggled to notice anything different she may have done to Malfoy, and she stepped backwards a step. Malfoy countered her move and fell flat on his face, as his laces had been magically woven together. When he tried to undo them, they wound themselves round his hands and bound his hands and feet together like magical handcuffs. He glared up at Hermione from his degrading position on the floor, and she stood over him, smirking.

"I do believe I've won, Mr Malfoy," Hermione noted, gloating. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I went easy on you," he countered, "untie me, will you?"

"Oh I'm not falling for that one," she grinned, "Not until you admit defeat."

He rolled his eyes and looked around at his classmates, who were regarding the two of them with amusement, confusion and curiosity. He writhed for a moment or two in the magical chains Hermione had put him in, before laying still.

Hermione was still stood over him, a look of triumph gracing her features. It suited her, he noted, even though her hair was somewhat mussed up, her cheeks were flushed and the smile added a twinkle to her eyes that he'd only really seen before when she was in the company of Scarhead and the Pauper. It was nice. But he still resented losing to her.

"Fine." Malfoy spat. "I concede defeat in this Wizard's duel with Hermione Granger."

Hermione's beam got even wider – if that was even possible, he thought – and she nodded her head and the shoelace chains returned to normal. Malfoy scrambled to his feet, brushing dust off his robes, and scowling he turned to face Professor Krum.

"Vell that vas very intriguing," Krum said as he smiled upon the two students, curiosity tugging at the corners of his mouth, "But you both did an excellent job of demonstrating wandless magic. Fifty points to Gryffindor and 25 points to Slytherin." Her Gryffindor classmates beamed at her, whilst the remaining Slytherins gave a mixed reaction; some smiling, others glowering that they'd lost to Gryffindor, whilst others looked between the Head Boy and Girl as if they were trying to work something out. "Sit down, both of you."

After Hermione and Malfoy had both sat down, Ron and Harry congratulated her on "beating the bastard" – which she turned a blind eye to, elated as she was in her victory. Krum went on to explain the basic principles of wandless magic and how it was useful and also sometimes not so handy, and Hermione scribbled notes furiously. She finished writing before the rest of the class and scribbled on a bit of parchment "How does it feel to lose to a _girl,_ Malfoy? – Hermione" and she enchanted the paper so that it floated onto Malfoy's desk without arousing the attention of her classmates. Malfoy unfolded the scrap, saw what was written on it and rolled his eyes, looking at Hermione from across the room. He scribbled something, and then sent it back her way.

_ If it was anyone else, I'd be distraught. But I don't mind being beaten by the best of the best. Gives me something to aim for – Draco_

Hermione smiled. Receiving a compliment from Draco Malfoy wasn't something anyone did particularly often – and it'd happened to Hermione more than once lately. This year was looking better and better, she thought to herself.

At the front of the room, Professor Krum surveyed the students, absorbed in their jottings. His eyes latched onto Hermy-own-ninny – she was prettier than ever, he thought to himself, but out of bounds now that he was a teacher. He followed her gaze to the blonde haired Slytherin and smiled to himself. Who'd have guessed, he thought to himself, the serpent and the lion, he chuckled, as the bell rang and he dismissed the class.


	17. Trust Me it's a Matter of Life or Death

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
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**Chapter Seventeen: Trust Me, It's a Matter of Life or Death**

Hermione walked down the hall way on the way to Guidance and Counselling, flanked by Ron and Harry on either side – they were completely oblivious to her presence though, and were discussing the future of the Bulgarian Quidditch team now that Krum appeared to be out for the rest of the season, if not longer. She rolled her eyes... you'd have thought after seven years they'd have tired of Quidditch, but no, she thought, it remained a constant topic of conversation. What she wouldn't give to hold an educated conversation with Malfoy right now, and she reddened at the thought – luckily Ron and Harry were so deep in conversation or else she'd have to cover up her blushing with a lie about thinking about spending time with Malfoy instead of her two best friends.

Professor Duxhominem swung the big doors wide open and the students filed into her classroom – Hermione took in the teacher's over-sized glasses and flowing pink skirt, trying to suppress a giggle as she caught Ron's eye – and before they could sit down, she said, "Class, class, come in. I have decided for the duration of this half term you shall work with the partners you did yesterday – see it as a test run if you will, if you work well with these partners then you shall be allowed to work with who you want after Christmas. Do I make myself clear?"

The class nodded, and shuffled around until they were sat next to their partners from the previous day. Ron looked outraged as he looked over at Hermione who was sat next to the blonde Slytherin – and he stalked over to their desk as Professor Duxhominem started writing some mumbo-jumbo about trust on the board.

"Move Malfoy, I'll work with Hermione." Ron said, as Hermione protested.

"No, Ron, it's fine. I can work with Malfoy – go back to your seat."

"No Hermione, he got you a detention yesterday I'm not having that again."

"Ronald, I can look after myself, thank you very much, and it was _my_ fault I got a detention yesterday, so don't you go blaming it on Malfoy."

"But the ferret-"

"Stop Ron. Go, I don't care what you have to say, I'm working with Malfoy."

Ron stood in front of their desks for a few moments, as if contemplating what his next retort or move should be, and both Malfoy and Hermione glared at him.

"You heard Granger, Weaselby. Now bugger off back to your seat like a good little boy," Malfoy smirked.

Ron went red and spat, "I'm not going because _you_ told me to, ferret. I'm going because _Hermione_ thinks she can handle you. But fine, I'm going to let her-"

"You don't _own_ me Ronald. I can do whatever I like, thank you very much-"

Hermione was cut off mind rant by the Professor, who was glaring at the trio. "Is there a problem over here?" She spat.

"Erm, no Professor," mumbled Ron.

Malfoy spoke up. "Weasley was trying to make me swap partners with him, Professor. He seems to think that Granger and I can't work together."

"Is that so?" asked Professor Duxhominem, curiously. "And whatever possessed you, Ron, to take that decision into your own hands? Need I remind you that _I_ am the teacher here, and if there is to be any partner swapping, I with authorise it. Go back to your seat, twenty points from Gryffindor."

Ron glared at Malfoy and threw Hermione a disappointed look which she immediately shook off, as he sauntered back to his seat and got his books out. Harry threw a sympathetic look at Ron, and then a confused look at Hermione, who was looking at everyone but her two "best friends".

There was quiet that fell on the class after Ron's little outburst, and Professor Duxhominem resumed her spot at the forefront of the classroom.

"Today, class, we are going to be investigating trust. What is trust, can anybody tell me?" She surveyed the sea of hands. "Mr Longbottom?"

Neville gulped and answered nervously, "Firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something?" He looked up at the teacher who was smiling encouragingly.

"Excellent! Great start. Anyone else got any ideas?" She perused the hands again. "Miss Granger?"  
Hermione recited, as if reading from a textbook, "Trust is both an emotional and logical act. Emotionally, it is where you expose your vulnerabilities to people, but believing they will not take advantage of your openness. Logically, it is where you have assessed the probabilities of gain and loss, calculating expected utility based on hard performance data, and concluded that the person in question will behave in a predictable manner."

The teacher nodded, "Although that was basically a drawn out version of what Mr Longbottom said, you are correct. Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor. Today we are going to explore the trust between you and your partner, so if you'll follow me to the astronomy tower..."

Ten minutes later, the class was gathered around the Professor who stood on the top step of the astronomy tower so she could survey the class. "The exercise you will be completing today with your partner means that you have to trust your partner to finish the task. One of you shall be blindfolded, and the other shall lead you up around the outside of the tower, via the enchanted staircase Professor McGonagall has had installed for this task. You will need to be conscious of you and your partner's footing, as at times it is quite steep and treacherous. You will need to be extra vigilant that neither you, nor your partner fall to their death, as you can see we are quite a way up from the ground. Please arrange between you who will be doing which role out of the two of you, and line up with your partner down the stairs, please."

The students shuffled into order.

"So, Granger," Malfoy smirked, "Please tell me you're not afraid of heights, are you?"

Hermione's eyes widened, as the task dawned on her – she hated heights, which was why she detested riding a broom. "Um." She gulped, and Malfoy's eyes lit up.

"My, you _are_ scared of heights, aren't you," he said, worriedly. "Well don't be afraid; you've got me to look after you. I'm taking that to mean you want me to be the leader, then?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes I am. Oh, that's reassuring," she said sarcastically. "But thanks, yes that would probably be better. Let's just get this over with as quickly as possible."

Malfoy nodded in agreement with Hermione. "Occulto," Malfoy said, pointing his wand at Hermione's eyes as they reached the bottom of the stairwell, after being directed by Professor Duxhominem to start and a blindfold appeared around her face. It was a Slytherin green – no surprised there – and trimmed with silver. He chuckled.

"What?" Exclaimed Hermione, nervously.

"I stand by what I said last night, Granger, green suits you. You should wear it more often."

She chuckled. "If it's alright with you I think I'll stick with red and gold for now – I can't imagine Harry and Ron would be too impressed if I started strutting around in green and silver," she said, and Malfoy could tell her eyes would be lit up in amusement, even though they were covered by his blindfold.

"True, very true," he admitted, "You ready to start, Granger?" He asked, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for the witch in front of him whose knees were shaking in fear.

"As I'll ever be," she said, with a half-hearted smile.

"Take my hand," he instructed, and she gasped when his icy skin came in contact with her own.

"Merlin, Malfoy! Your hands are freezing – what do you do to them, bathe in a bath of ice cubes?" She demanded, and now it was his turn to laugh.

"Something like that," he chuckled. "But your hands _are_ especially warm," he pointed out, and he took her hand and pressed it to his face. She inhaled at the contact, and he could feel her wanting to pull her hand away, so he dropped their hands.

"Brrr you're like an ice statue," she said.

"That's me," Malfoy grinned, even though she couldn't see. "Draco Malfoy, the abominable snow man."

Her laughter broke through the cold air and Malfoy found himself grinning – it was nice to make Hermione laugh for a change; instead of being the onlooker as Potter or Weasley made some pathetic attempt at humour. It felt nice.

Malfoy began the ascent up the stair case, enshrouding Hermione's tiny hand in his own, manly and calloused one – their fingers sliding together with ease and fitting together nearly perfectly. He called out reassuring things, now and again, as Hermione cautiously put one foot in front of the other on the enchanted stair case around the tower. A gust of wind rattled her a bit, and a whimper escaped her lips.

"Shush, its fine," Malfoy murmured reassuringly, as he grazed Hermione's hand with his thumb. She nodded, and continued on resolutely; not wanting to let something as pathetic as a great height undo her fearless reputation.

"So how come you don't like heights, then, Granger?" Malfoy asked, curious as well as conversationally.

She squeezed his hand tighter as they climbed higher. "When I was seven, before Hogwarts, my best friend was killed on a rollercoaster – that's a muggle invention-" but Malfoy cut her off.

"I know what a roller coaster is, Granger," He said, somewhat affronted that she thought he wouldn't – but he understood the reason for her explanation; he _was_ a Pureblood after all.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think you would." She continued. "She wasn't strapped in properly, and she fell out... ever since then I just haven't liked heights and the risk they pose," she explained, a sad twinge to her voice.

Malfoy didn't speak for a few moments, taking in what she'd just admitted, and when he finally did speak, his voice was gruff. "I'm sorry to hear that, Hermione," and he squeezed her hand sympathetically. Their deep conversation was interrupted by the fact that they'd now reached the top of the staircase, where Ron was waiting, glowering, to take Hermione's hand.

Malfoy grinned wickedly at Ron – what was the harm, Granger couldn't see – before undoing the blindfold for Hermione. She blinked and looked around their surroundings, gulping as she looked down and saw how far they had come. "As promised, safe and sound," Malfoy grinned, and Hermione smiled back warily. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Malfoy winked, as he sauntered away from Hermione and Ron, leaving them to each other's company.

"What?" Hermione asked Ron exasperatedly; he was still glowering at Malfoy's back as he walked away. "What is your problem?" she asked.

Ron shrugged. "My problem? Oh, how about the fact that you're all pally with Malfoy, all of a sudden as a problem?" His tone was jealous, as he glared at the blonde haired boy.

Hermione laughed. "What? Don't be ridiculous, Ron, I'd have thought you'd have been more grown up that that. He's head boy, I'm head girl, and we _need_ to get on for the sake of our duties. Don't go worrying about it – I can handle him just fine."

Ron contemplated her explanation for a moment. "Fine, I can appreciate that I guess. Just don't get too friendly with him, Hermione. It is Malfoy, after all – I wouldn't be surprised if he had ulterior motives," he said darkly.

"And what on earth is that meant to mean, Ronald?" Hermione snapped back, but before the red-head could answer, Professor Duxhominem addressed the class.

"Excellent! You have all mastered the art of trust – you all completed the journey up the stairs without any problems, which shows that for this short period of time, you managed to trust your partner – an important step in your relationship. Just so you know, there was no way you could've fallen, by the way, but the risk was there to strengthen the meaning to "trust"," the Professor explained. "I could've never have actually put the threat of you falling to your death there – there was a force-field which would've meant you would have been perfectly safe, had you have fallen." The teacher continued. "Now I expect some of you didn't enjoy that particular task because you don't like heights. Am I right?" She asked, and a few of the students, including Hermione, nodded.

"Excellent – that moves us onto our next topic nicely; fear. You have an assignment this term, where you will be off timetable for the rest of the term – but I expect your time to be used effectively for your project," she glared steely around the class, making sure they all absorbed the severity of her words. "You are all afraid of something," she continued, "And this term we will be working on conquering that fear together – yes, with your current partners," she added, shooting a look at Ron. "By the end of the term, not only do I expect you to have conquered your fear, but I want you to prepare a demonstration for the class which proves this. Any questions?"

"What exactly do we have to _do?_" Asked one of the Hufflepuff boys, sounding really confused – in all honesty, although a stupid question, one Hermione was glad had been asked, as she wasn't too clear herself.

"It's simple enough, Mr Horesbury. You have all your lessons until Christmas off timetable – and yes, you can leave the premises of the school as you are eighth years, after all – and you must work to conquer your fears. For example, if you are afraid of spiders, you may wish to visit a Muggle zoo and learn more about them. By Christmas, I expect a short presentation or proof that you have conquered your fears," she explained. "If you don't achieve this then I am afraid you will fail Guidance and Counselling." The Hufflepuff and the rest of the class nodded in understanding. That made a lot more sense. "Okay, that's it from me – if you have any qualms, don't be afraid to approach me," Professor Duxhominem smiled at the class. "The bell has gone – you are free to go to your next lesson," she said, dismissing the class with a wave of her hand.

The sea of students swarmed down from the tower, chatting animatedly about their assignment. Hermione overheard snatchings of conversations, as she tried to find Harry and Ron. Malfoy walked alongside her down the corridor on the way to charms. "So Granger, we've already established that you're afraid of heights. I've got the perfect way of conquering that," he grinned. "You're lucky you've been partnered with such an amazing Quidditch player," he grinned, giving her a knowing smile. Her eyes widened in horror – he wouldn't dare make her ride a broom, would he?

She pulled her robe around her, shivering at the prospect.

"Please tell me you're not going to make me get on a broom, Malfoy," she begged, and Malfoy shook his head determinedly.

"Don't worry Granger, you're in good hands. When I'm done with you, we'll have a world class Quidditch player on our hands," he smiled warmly, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh – the chances of her becoming a decent Quidditch player were as likely as Hagrid turning out to be her Mum!

"If you say so, Malfoy. I'm expecting great things," she smiled, and he smirked back. "So, Malfoy, what are _you_ afraid of, Mr-high-and-mighty-nothing-scares-me?" She pushed his arm jokingly, and he feigned mock hurt. She laughed. Malfoy thought about it for a moment, and his eyes glazed over for a minute or two.

"I'm afraid of dying," Malfoy admitted sheepishly. "Although I'm not really sure what I can do to conquer that," he said, thoughtfully, and Hermione's face lit up.

"Oh don't worry, I have a perfect idea!" Hermione exclaimed, and Malfoy regarded her curiously – certainly no obvious solutions sprang to his mind.

Charms passed without much incident – Professor Flitwick was rambling on about a spell Hermione had mastered years ago, and she found her eyes wondering. Malfoy was sat two rows across from her, and was writing something on a scrap of parchment, which he tapped with his wand, until it transfigured into a little bird. The said bird hoped off his desk and along the floor until it reached Hermione, and as inconspicuously as she could, she reached down to pick it up. She tapped it with her wand until it was a straight piece of parchment again, to read **'**_**After Astronomy tomorrow, we'll go to the Quidditch pitch to start on our task – wear something comfortable (skirt probably isn't a good idea... that is, unless you want to flash your knickers to me, Granger ;) *grins cheekily*) – Malfoy**_**'**

Hermione smiled as she read the note, and wiping it clean with her wand, she scrawled **'**_**Sure, sounds good... Oh I will, don't you worry. Sorry Malfoy but whilst I know you're desperate to get in my pants, you're going to have to try a bit harder than that ;) - Hermione**_**'** and she enchanted the parchment so that it hopped over to Malfoy's desk.

When he read her note, he smiled, and scrawled again. She picked up the parchment bird and smiled when she read, **'Damn, you got me Granger. Okay, no underwear getting-into, I promise :P – Malfoy'**.

Her smile was noticed by Ron, who glared at her. "Passing love letters now, are we?" He hissed spitefully under his breath. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. We were merely discussing our head boy/girl duties." Hermione lied without so much as a flicker of emotion on her face.

"Sure you were," Ron glowered, as he lowered his eyes back to the page in the text book; the tips of his ears red with anger, and his tone drenched in jealousy...


	18. Reaching New Heights

**Chapter Eighteen: Reaching New Heights**

The rest of the day passed without incident, and Hermione was tired when she finally collapsed into her bed; her homework had taken her all evening and she hadn't even had time to herself to read – because her patrolling duty had interrupted her studies – the corridors of Hogwarts had been empty, and she had bid Malfoy goodnight, before sinking into the comfort of her duvet. Hermione found that before she drifted off that she was looking forward to her session with Malfoy before astronomy – and this surprised her. Who'd have known, but Hermione Granger was looking forward to spending time with a _Slytherin_! She tried not to berate herself and put it down the fact that her conversations with Malfoy didn't always revolve around Quidditch – although tomorrow couldn't promise the same. She hated heights, and hoped he didn't push her too hard. She wasn't sure how much it would take for her to break down – and that was one thing she didn't want Malfoy to see; her losing her cool. She fell into a deep slumber, and only woke as the sunlight streamed through the window.

At breakfast, although she talked to Harry and Ron, she was distracted; already mentally preparing herself for her looming appointment with Malfoy. Over a cup of Pumpkin Juice and a slice of toast, she fretted about the art of flying; it wasn't her strong point, because it couldn't be learnt through books. She chuckled somewhat snidely to herself; otherwise, she thought, Harry and Ron would be terrible at it. She was fairly confident in her idea for Malfoy's task – but it would take a lot of organisation, and she'd have to clear a few things with Professor McGonagall first; although she was sure, being head girl and all, she wouldn't encounter any difficultly.

Whilst sifting through her thoughts over breakfast, it suddenly occurred to Hermione that it wasn't even a week into term and already it had surpassed her expectations. She would have never have thought there'd be a day where she would be giving up her free time to spend it with Draco Malfoy – albeit on a project – nor had she ever thought she wouldn't mind sharing a dorm with the blonde Slytherin. It had been the strangest start to the year she'd ever seen at Hogwarts, but she couldn't say it was unpleasant. The entry of Draco Malfoy in her life was just strange, it felt alien. She wasn't sure how she should feel about it just yet, at least. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she said goodbye to Harry and Ron – Ron replied with a mouthful, as per usual – and walked briskly to the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione spotted Malfoy from a mile off – although his hair was no longer slicked back with gel, it was still very distinguishable and you could pick him out easily in a crowd of people. She approached him nervously, in anticipation in the events to come; her stance defensive, with her arms across her chest, bag slung over one shoulder. She managed a feeble smile, and he grinned back cheekily.

"Morning Granger, scared, are we?" He chuckled at the outraged look on the Gryffindor's face.

"What makes you say that?" She exclaimed.

"Oh just the whole pale-as-a-sheet face, I'm-going-to-hurl expression you're wearing, the way you're regarding me as if I'm going to kill you and the fact that you don't seem to want to get off the ground." He gestured to the fact that Hermione was now holding the Quidditch stand railing firmly in her hand; her knuckle white with the pressure she was applying.

"Oh. Well I guess you could say I'm a _little_ nervous," she admitted.

"Relax, Granger, you're in good hands."

"That's debatable," she grinned cheekily, but her face soon fell again. "It's just I haven't ridden a broom since first year flying lessons," she admitted. Malfoy looked surprised.

"Really? I was pretty sure either Potter or Weasley would've convinced you to go on one – and I'm surprised you managed to resist them, if I'm honest. Well in that case, I guess we better start with the basics..."

He pulled his Firebolt out from behind his back – the handle was gleaming and the bristles were in perfect condition. He clearly, like Harry, Hermione thought, took excellent care of his broom. "D'you know what this is, Granger?" Malfoy jibed sarcastically.

"Gee, Malfoy," Hermione played along, "Is it a flying carpet?"

Malfoy laughed.

"Seriously though, I'm not stupid. I may not be so good at the practice of flying; but I certainly know the principles. I've read every Quidditch book Harry and Ron own –"

Malfoy cut her off, looking impressed. "What, you've read _Quidditch through the Ages_?"

Hermione nodded modestly. "Yes, I had loads of spare time all the time I was at Ron's house..."

"Wow. I must say I'm impressed Granger; I only know two girls who've read that book now, and I'm not sure you can count Millicent Bullstrode as a girl... so that makes you special," he grinned, and Hermione laughed. "But we aren't going to teach you Quidditch for now," he continued. "You need to know the basics first – riding a broom."

They had an hour before their class with Professor Sinistra, and not wanting to waste time, they cracked on. Hermione, however, was not having much luck with the art of riding a broom. No matter how hard she tried to get the damned thing to hover, or even move forward, it jerked uncontrollably until she touched down again. Malfoy was struggling not to laugh at the look of pure terror on Hermione's face. After a particularly sharp lurch, which left Hermione about a metre off the ground and bucking slightly, her hair flyaway and her expression of pure panic, Malfoy was alerted to the fact that she probably wasn't going to get this right anytime soon.

"Help me, Malfoy!" She exclaimed, panicking.

He raised an eyebrow, not deigning to answer as he looked at her from where she was, about two metres off the ground.

"Malfoy! I swear to Merlin that if you do not help me THIS INSTANT I will put you in detention with Hagrid for the rest of the term and then I'll hex your sodding balls off!"

"I'd like to see you try, Granger." He smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Malfoy! Please. I can't do it..."

"Humph." Malfoy sighed, and he helped her off the broom – she began noticeably more reasonable once both feet were planted firmly on the ground.

Hermione sighed. "I'm never going to conquer my fear of heights if I can't even ride a god damn broom." She looked dejected, and after a moment's thought, Malfoy smiled.

"I've got an idea," he said and he elegantly climbed onto his broom. "Get on Granger."

Her eyes widened. A broom was barely big enough for one person of Malfoy's size, and if she went on his broom with him... they'd have to be close. That could be weird, she thought, and hesitantly clambered onto the back of the broom.

Malfoy touched off the ground, and they hovered about two metres off the ground; just enough so that Hermione's toes no longer touched the ground. She let out a fearful yelp, which only made Malfoy laugh, his torso vibrating against Hermione's. In her fear she had flung her arms around Malfoy's midriff, and even through the fabric of his robes, could feel his lean, taught, muscular physique. At first he had tensed at the contact, but just as quickly, he had relaxed, and he had told her to hold on tighter. She obeyed, winding her arms tighter so that there was no space between their bodies.

As Malfoy ascended slowly, so as not to overwhelm Hermione, she noticed the curvature of his back, and how easily she seemed to fit into place with him on the back of the broom. She dismissed it, thinking herself silly, and when they finally gained enough height for her to be frightened; she scrunched her face up in fear, and buried her head in Malfoy's robes. He smelt of something slightly spicy – cinnamon, maybe? And musk, and she felt the smell soothing and a pleasant change from the usual odour of teenage boys; sweat and occasionally a cheap aftershave. No, Malfoy was a man of class and he clearly recognised the importance of hygiene.

"You alright back there, Granger?" Malfoy asked. "You're awfully quiet."

Her voiced cracked, giving her away. "I'm a terrified Malfoy. Please can we go back down?"

"I'm afraid not Granger, we still have half an hour and we need to work on conquering your fear – so we're not going back down until you remove your head from my back – my very sexy back, may I add," he said cheekily, "and you look around you. See how beautiful everything is from up here."

Hermione did not remove her head for a few more seconds, but when she did, she took in a sharp breath. Harry and Ron and Malfoy were right; flying was a whole other world; everything looked so different from up here. It was still petrifying, though, so she whimpered as she clung to Malfoy even tighter. He winced but didn't say anything – after all, what's a little pain now and again.

Malfoy manipulated the broom to coast around the Quidditch pitch a few times, circling the Gryffindor and Slytherin podiums, and Hermione looked around cautiously, her whole body shaking and her guts churning.

From the window in her study, Professor McGonagall watched the two students cruising around on a broom; at first she had thought it was some couple who were messing around, but she realised with great surprise that the two students were in fact the head boy and girl; none other than Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. She couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle; her favourite student looked absolutely petrified, and Malfoy looked determined, more than anything. She realised that this must have something to do with the project that Professor Duxhominem had suggested, to do with conquering fears – and she had to commend the teacher on her efforts... putting the two "enemies" together was clearly working, she smiled.

It was no coincidence that Hermione was now being subjected to Malfoy's flying lessons; it had been a joint decision between the Transfiguration teacher and the late Hogwarts's Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, to think of a way to unite the students. They had decided that a union between a member of the golden trio and a Slytherin, or "the enemy" as the house had been viewed in the recent battle would likely give the students the ammunition and incentive they needed to be more tolerant towards one another. Dumbledore had wisely pointed out that Harry and Ron were too stubborn to try and get on with Malfoy; and it had been him who had suggested that McGonagall coerce Malfoy into working with Hermione by giving him the position of Head Boy.

She had to admit it was a rather genius idea; she hoped that if the duo were given lots of opportunity to strengthen their friendship, the rest of the school would see that house unity is a good thing – not everything needs to be a competition. She had worked hard with the teachers to make sure they all knew the plan; and whilst not all of them were happy with it, they had all agreed to comply and play their parts. She was delighted to see the plan already starting to work – to have a Gryffindor and a Slytherin on the same broom without hexing one another was quite an achievement, and if McGonagall didn't know better from all her years of experience, she would have said that Mr Malfoy was quite enjoying himself. Honestly, she thought, she must be going mad.

Hermione eventually stopped shaking, and she lessened her grip on Malfoy slightly. That wasn't to say she wasn't still scared – because she was terrified – but she _was_ a lot more relaxed, and she had a feeling that was to do with the fact that she felt surprisingly safe with her arms wrapped around Malfoy. He guided the broom around the Quidditch pitch for a final lap, Hermione's breathing finally regular, and he gently descended to ground level. Hermione clambered off the back of the broom as eloquently as she could, a little shaky on her feet. Malfoy grinned at her.

"See Granger, that wasn't so bad, was it? I thought you were going to scream, but looks like you've got more guts than I give you credit..."

"You're right, it wasn't _that_ bad, but I have you know, I can be very gutsy when I want to be!" Hermione exclaimed. Malfoy chuckled.

"Don't I know it," he grinned. "I think my nose still hurts from that punch you threw, in third year?" He rubbed his nose, taunting her, and she leant over and flicked the straight and perfectly set nose. He pretended she'd mortally wounded him, and she rolled her eyes. He was wasted here at Hogwarts – Draco Malfoy belonged at drama school, Hermione thought, from all the drama queen tendencies he had.

"We've been over this already," Hermione chided. "Anyway, we should probably get to astronomy, before Professor Sinistra wonders where we are!"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to roll his eyes. "Always the good two shoes Granger, aren't you?"

"Get used to it," Hermione said, as she turned on her heel, smiling, and began the walk up to the castle...


	19. FLASHBACK: Written in the Stars

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Nineteen: FLASHBACK Written In the Stars**

_**A Week Before Term Started:**_

_ Professor McGonagall cleared her throat from where she stood at the top of the stairs in the headmistress' office. It had been quite a feat to squeeze all of the staff into the small space, but nonetheless, they were all there now. Many of them were curious as to why the head teacher had summoned them, but when she cleared her throat, the chattering ceased and the adults devoted their full attention to the grey haired witch, who began to speak._

"Many of you will be wondering why I called you here, today," Professor McGonagall started, "But I have my reasons, which I shall explain shortly. As you know, the Final Battle has created a sense of chaos and a number of rifts within our own school community; the Slytherin students who are returning to school – a small percentage of the original amount, at that – are going to be persecuted and shunned, and as the teachers, it is our job to try and minimise this. I have conferred with Albus and Severus," she gestured to the portraits behind her; Dumbledore smiled warmly, a twinkle in his eye, whilst Snape just scowled, "and we believe we have reached a solution. As you know, Draco Malfoy's father was given the Dementor's kiss this summer, and he is now fatherless. His mother has contacted me and asked me to keep a special eye on him – she believes he has changed his attitudes; but that has yet to be seen. Albus thinks that if we can create an unlikely link between the houses Gryffindor and Slytherin, the two most competitive houses, then the rest of the students will see that there is no point in holding grudges, and that we should all get on."

Professor Trelawney's sister, whom she had hired to teach Guidance and Counselling spoke up, in the same raspy tone as her sister, "How do you suggest we get the Slytherins and Gryffindors to coexist after years of rivalry?" She asked her tone somewhat snide.

"All in good time, my friend," McGonagall smiling, "The answer, it seems, lies with Draco Malfoy; and a student of my own house, Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger is one of the finest students Hogwarts has ever seen and she herself is one of the Golden trio... Albus believes it would be pointless to make Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley befriend Malfoy, as the two of their tempers are much too strong, and to do so would be fruitless. Miss Granger, however, is calm, composed and very tolerant; and seeing as she has been elected as head girl, Albus and I have formulated a plan." She paused, before continuing.

"We believe that with some coercion and a few helpful pointers, we can make Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger become friends with one another."

"How do you suppose we do that?" Slughorn asked rather dubiously.

"I have given Mr Malfoy the position of Head Boy; and he will share a common room with Miss Granger, which only they will be able to use. Their duties will force them to spend time together; and I hope with Malfoy's change in attitude, Miss Granger will be accepting of the boy – she is the kind of girl, as you know, who takes pity on the outsider. I hope that their friendship will begin to develop due to their own doing, but I also want you to play a part in it." She gestured to the teachers around her.

"It was Severus' idea that we give the two a placebo; something which will link the two of them together and create a "bond" if you will. This placebo will mean that both Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger think that there is a connection between them; something that draws them together. It will hopefully plant the seed that they are compatible friends... and Albus dares suggest that he can even see romance on the cards, for these two students." The portrait behind her chuckled.

"Minerva, Minerva, don't be so flippant. I wouldn't be surprised if, with the amount of time you're planning on making them spend together, they do fall in love. Just don't dismiss it, that's all I'm asking," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Very well. But the reason we are trying to create this friendship is so that the other students; who perceive Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy as role models, will see the union between the two houses, and then practice the same thing – and we'll have house unity, finally." She smiled. "Now where do you come in, you ask?"

"I want each of you to take an active role in planting the "placebo" that Severus has suggested we use. He doesn't think that any friendship will happen of its own accord, he believes we need to assist the process. With much consideration, Albus and I have decided on a placebo; and using my gifts as a Quatuor Pedes seer – this means I can tell which form people will take under the influence of the Quatuor Pedes Incantation – I know that both Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger take on the form of the Eagle. Albus thinks it would be wise to run this across the subjects that Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger take, and trick them into thinking that there is a connection between the two of them. I have planted library books about the Eagle and what it represents in case Miss Granger decides to go snooping; which, if I know her well enough, she will. I want each of you to try and incorporate the eagle into your lessons; if you can, and make sure that Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy are partnered wherever possible. Is that clear?"

The atmosphere in the room was a very thoughtful one, as all the teaching staff took in what the headmistress was saying. It shouldn't be too _difficult pairing Hermione with Malfoy; it would probably be her friends, Potter and Weasley who caused a scene._

However, they all resolved to do as McGonagall asked. The astronomy teacher raised a hand, and McGonagall indicated for her to speak.

"So you want us to instil the idea that the eagle somehow links Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy? For example, would you like me to make them complete a project on the constellation Altair; the Latin Eagle star?"

"That's exactly what I want! Perfect... as for the rest of you... Sybill, I was wondering if you could make a phoney prediction about the eagle, and when you get an opportunity, deliver it to Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger – even though you don't teach them? Something cryptic, just to put them on the edge, maybe?"

The seeress nodded. "Although I do not like to make a habit of making false predictions-" Some of the other teachers suppressed a snort here, "That can be done easily, and although Miss Granger doesn't possess the sight, I shall be happy to oblige in order to allow your little plan to run smoothly... I have always had great faith in Albus' ideas."

"Thank you. Horace?" She asked, looking for Slughorn in the crowd of teachers. "I was wondering if you could partner Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy in potions, and make sure they work together? I will be doing the same in my class," she said, and the Potions master nodded in agreement.

"Professor Babbling, I am aware that both students' grades are already NEWT standard?"

"Yes, they're both excellent and hardworking students. I'm afraid that this year is going to be a bit mundane and repetitive for the two of them," the Ancient Runes teacher admitted.

"If that's the case, maybe you could give Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger a project that will last the duration of the class that they will have their lessons off-timetable in order to complete? Have you got any translation that they could do, maybe?"

Professor Babbling squealed in excitement, "Yes! I have several of my Grandfather's journals that they could translate for me – I've never had the time! They could work in my old office, behind the restricted section in the library, and that way they wouldn't be disturbed by other students!" She exclaimed. McGonagall smiled encouragingly.

"Excellent! See how easy it is, everyone, to find an excuse to make the two students spend time together? Please don't hesitate to approach me to run suggestions by me, or if you have any qualms. I trust each and every one of your judgements – I just hope that this all goes to plan!"

The staff chorused their agreement, and with their brains already formulating ideas for lessons, with McGonagall's dismission, they left the room, conversing about the plan for the union of the students at Hogwarts.

_ Albus Dumbledore smiled down from his portrait, "You did an excellent job convincing them, Minerva. I have great faith in our plan – if Mr Malfoy has changed like his mother says, it could be a lot easier than we imagine. Miss Granger is not only bright, but she's a good judge of character, too. Hopefully we will strike a chord with the Eagle placebo, that won't take long to blossom into a relationship, of sorts."_

"I hope you're right, Albus," McGonagall sighed, as she sank into her plush leather chair. "I really hope it works. I haven't told Hagrid anything," she added, thoughtfully, "I thought he can't keep his mouth shut; and he'd be bound to let something slip to Hermione." Albus nodded thoughtfully, whilst Snape muttered something incoherent that the Headmistress ignored.

"I stand by what I said, Minerva," Dumbledore smiled. "I think Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger would make a rather good couple."

She scoffed, and this time Professor Snape added, "No offense, Albus, but the likelihood of that is as likely as Potter passing his NEWTs in Potions."

The white haired wizard laughed merrily – if they couldn't see it, nothing he could say would make them. They would just have to wait and see.


	20. Sexy and You Know It

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty: Sexy and You Know It**

Astronomy was probably amongst Hermione's top three lessons; she found studying the planets and the stars incredibly interesting – and this, she told herself, was her reason for her haste to get away from Malfoy. But that wasn't really the case – she had wanted to escape because things were starting to get a little weird; Malfoy and Hermione were being _civil_ to each other, and she wasn't sure how she should feel. She perhaps had even enjoyed the ride on the back of his broom – even if she had been scared out of her wits. She was just, in all honesty, a confused teenage girl. She did her best to drown out her thoughts and think about what Professor Sinistra was saying.

"This term we will be studying a constellation called "Aquila"," the black haired witch explained. Hermione smiled as she thought about how Ron and Harry had always joked that Professor Sinistra was secretly having an affair with Snape – it made sense, actually. The witch could be very sarcastic at times; and of course the hairstyle that she sported was practically an exact replica of their old potion Professor's greasy mop! "If you'll turn to page 376, please, and read the chapter about the constellation," she instructed, "Then I will give you a set of questions to answer, which I want to be copied out neatly onto finest parchment, please, before I explain the project for this term."

The class bustled to get their books out of their bags, and as Hermione bent down to get her book out her bag, she caught Malfoy's eye. The blonde haired Slytherin smiled at her, causing Hermione to do a double take. She didn't think she'd ever seen the blonde haired boy actually smile; she'd become so accustomed to his trademark smirk that she wasn't even aware he was capable of showing something as human as genuine emotion! She managed a smile back, and as she sat up, she shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; something which she did whenever she got flustered. Inside, she was scolding herself; what was a meagre smile to go getting flustered about? You're being stupid, Hermione, she told herself, as she flipped to the appropriate page in the book.

She stifled a gasp. Surely this was too much to be a coincidence, Hermione thought to herself, as she gazed at the textbook with a mixture of confusion and intrigue playing on her face. Across the room a certain Slytherin was also regarding the textbook with a look of intrigue, but with more of an element of suspicion, than confusion. The two students in those few moments felt utterly isolated; it felt that somehow, somewhere, their situation was being orchestrated, but this thought was quickly pushed to the side. In their minds they were running out of logical explanations; for the page in front of them was just too much for the whole "eagle" mumbo-jumbo to be a coincidence, first with McGonagall in Divination, and then with Professor Trelawney during the stairs incident.

Hermione mentally shook herself and began reading the chapter:

_**Aquila**__ is a stellar constellation. Its name is Latin for 'eagle'. Aquila lays just a few degrees north of the celestial equator. The alpha star, Altair, is a vertex of the Summer Triangle asterism. The constellation is best seen in the summer as it is located along the Milky Way. Because of this location along the line of our galaxy, many clusters and nebulae are found within its borders, but they are dim and there are few galaxies. In classical Greek mythology, Aquila was identified as Aetos Dios (Αετός Δίας), the eagle that carried the thunderbolts of Zeus. In the Chinese love story of Qi Xi, Niu Lang (Altair) and his two children (β and γ Aquilae) are separated forever from their wife and mother Zhi Nu (Vega) who is on the far side of the river, the Milky Way. There have been many studies done of this constellation; whose brightest star is Altair - it is also the twelfth brightest star in the night sky. _

As Hermione read, her breathing slowed as she relaxed; there didn't seem anything out of the ordinary with the text; it wasn't some massive prank. She was just being paranoid, the witch told herself, as she immersed herself in the text once more, retaining fact after fact in her brain – no doubt the information would come in use, later. Across the room a certain Slytherin had already relaxed and immersed himself in the text; he'd been fretting over nothing. It was just a coincidence – a weird one, at that, nonetheless. But it was just a coincidence.

Professor Sinistra coughed, drawing their attention back to the front of the room. "By now, I hope you have all read the chapter?" She looked round the class. "Familiarised yourself with the text? Good. Now here are the questions," she flicked her wand, and a piece of chalk frantically attacked the chalkboard, intricate letters forming the questions she wanted them to answer. "You have half an hour; let me know if you finish."

The class fell into a concentrated silence, as everyone began to attempt the questions. Hermione answered them with ease – and she paused for a moment to allow the cramp in her hand to lessen slightly, and in doing so, surveyed the classroom. She had wondered why the atmosphere was so quiet; but now she realised. The only students who had opted to do Astronomy for NEWT level were herself, Malfoy, two plain looking Slytherin girls, and a handful of Ravenclaws – who were known for being studious and quiet in classes, very rarely making a fuss. She smiled – it would make a nice chance, getting to work in silence; it wasn't something so got the pleasure of very often, being from Gryffindor. As much as she loved Ron and Harry, she had to admit that they were a little restless at times.

After the half hour passed, Hermione had finished the questions, underlined the title, and checked three times through her work for any errors – as far as she could tell, everything was correct. Professor Sinistra, after looking at the clock (which had planets orbiting each other instead of numbers, and the teacher was the only one who could seem to figure it out; it even had Hermione confused!) bustled round the room collecting their answers to the questions. She glanced down at Hermione's answers before smiling warmly.

"Excellent, Hermione – full marks. I can't fault your answers; you've given everything I asked for, and more!" The professor exclaimed.

The professor stopped at Malfoy's desk, reading over his answers as well. A smile played on her face, "Well, well, well, Hermione," she chirped, "Looks like you've got some competition over here! Mr Malfoy has perfect answers too... my, this could be an interesting year!"

Malfoy smirked at Hermione, who rolled her eyes. A few murmurs passed amongst disgruntled Ravenclaws who wanted their work selected, instead, and Professor Sinistra ignored people, turning to address the class.

"This term we will be studying, as you have already read, the constellation Aquila; or, the eagle star," at this point Hermione felt like the Professor was looking directly at her, and she shivered at the mention of that blasted bird. It was everywhere she looked! But she shook the idea out of her head nearly as immediately as it was formed – honestly, what was she suggesting, that the teachers were all plotting against her and Malfoy in some big kind of practical joke? Preposterous. She nearly laughed at her own stupidity, but she didn't, she kept her eyes trained on the teacher, listening attentively.

"In particular we are going to be focusing on Altair, which is the brightest of the stars in the eagle constellation. In pairs – I'll pair you up in a minute – I wish for you to produce a selection of images; either wizarding or Muggle photographs, preferably a combination, of the star; which you will see from the astronomy tower on a clear night, or through your telescopes – which I hope you've all brought with you to Hogwarts," she added sternly. "Not only do I want this series of photographs to be presented by the end of the term, but I want a portfolio of information on the star and it's mythology – it can be as long or as short as you want, and you can use any resources you can think of, but I'm telling you now that the people who put in the most effort will reap the most rewards," the teacher explained.

Hermione could almost taste the eagerness on her tongue; she was already buzzing to begin the new project; thousands of ideas for what they could do already whirring through her brain. She zoned out as the Professor droned on about standard portfolio format; OWF (Ordinary Wizarding Font) and the spells they could cast in order to make their handwriting legible... she'd been over this so many times that it was now firmly implanted into her brain; she wasn't going to be forgetting any time soon. Professor Sinistra clapped her hands, jolting Hermione out of her reverie, and Hermione nearly gasped in shock – but managed to suppress it. She thought how much she'd been doing that lately; drifting off it the middle of class, but then she realised she was doing it again.

She consciously tuned in to the Professor, who was pairing off the students – mainly Ravenclaws, and with, she noted, their friends. She hoped she ended up with Padma or Luna – somebody who she liked, but she huffed in annoyance as her two first choices were put together. There was a small mouse haired girl that Hermione thought she'd end up with, but Professor Sinistra matched her with a black haired boy who Hermione had only seen once – during the final battle, she recalled, he'd been cradling an owl in the aftermath – and once again, Hermione was partnerless. Great. What were the chances, she thought to herself, as the two Slytherin girls were paired together, leaving a wide eyed Hermione, and amused Draco Malfoy sat on opposite sides of the room.

The room watched with baited breath, waiting for a hissy fit from Hermione about the prospect of having to work with _Draco Malfoy_, but no fit came. There were a few surprised murmurs, but other than that, Hermione swept her books into her bag – she could tell Malfoy wouldn't come to her – and strode across the room to sit next to the blonde boy who'd been teaching her how to ride a broom less than an hour ago.

Professor Sinistra smiled over the class, "Excellent. Now that you all have partners, you may have the remainder of the lessons to discuss any initial ideas that you may have," she announced, "Make sure to record any jottings on some parchment – who knows, you might need them later!" The professor seated herself at her desk and immersed herself in a rather lengthy looking letter. The awkward silence in the room broke, as the first few students began to talk cautiously amongst themselves. Slowly the chat escalated until it was at quite a rowdy level, and Hermione smiled as she watched the Professor cast a silencing charm around her. Hermione had had to do this too, sometimes, when in the Common room Harry and Ron had been making too much noise... those were the days, she thought to herself. Malfoy snapped her out of her reverie.

"So, Granger," he started conversationally, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Looks like the fates suggest we're destined to be together," he chuckled, pointing at a diagram of the eagle constellation in the book.

"You wish, Malfoy. The chances of you and me being destined to be together are as likely-" Malfoy cut her off by waving a hand dismissively, as if disregarding whatever she had to say.

"Don't be so quick to dismiss it, Granger," he said, "You saw our Quatuor Pedes form; then you heard the mumbo jumbo Trelawney said on the stairs... and then this..." he pointed, gesturing to the eagle star in the book. "It seems like a bit of freaky coincidence, if you ask me."

Secretly, Hermione was relieved that Malfoy had been thinking the same as her; before she had scolded herself for being silly... but maybe she _was_ right to be confused, even a little suspicious. It still all seemed like some kind of hoax.

"I hardly think it's fate, Malfoy. You heard McGonagall's explanation for our Quatuor Pedes, "We are quite similar, after all..."

"See, if we're similar, then maybe someone somewhere is trying to tell us something, that we're destined to fall madly in love with one another," Malfoy chuckled, and Hermione scoffed.

Malfoy's laugh wasn't entirely genuine, though. In the back of his mind, his bet with Peeves was now bearing down on him like a ton of bricks – he regretted making the bet - if he was going to make someone fall in love with him, he wanted to do it on his own terms at least, and not because of some pathetic bet. Oh well, he thought, bit late now.

"Besides," Hermione continued, "You know Professor Trelawney was blatantly drunk – therefore I don't believe a word she says,"  
"All the most truthful things are said when you're drunk, though," Malfoy countered.

"That's not true. Not in Trelawney's case, anyway. That woman is _totally_ off-her-rocker," Hermione exclaimed. She put on a falsetto wheezing voice, not dissimilar to the one Harry had heard the seeress lapse into when she prophesised Voldemort's return. Her impression, "Mark my words, the eagles will make their nest and fall in love before the year is out," made Hermione giggle and Malfoy shoved her half-heartedly, chuckling merrily.

"Who knows, Granger," Malfoy grinned with his trademark smirk all over his face, "Maybe you just won't be able to resist my sleek and sexy body, and you'll just be _begging_ for me to shag you before the year's out," he grinned, and Hermione mock slapped him.

"I have you know, Malfoy, that I am not some kind of _whorebag_ who'll sleep with you because you're attractive –"

"You think I'm attractive, then, Granger?" Malfoy asked, amused. A faint pink tinge came to Hermione's cheeks, but not enough to be noticeable.

She answered, flustered, "No, well yes, well what I _meant_ was just what you said –"Malfoy cut her off before she could continue.

"Relax, Granger," he smirked, "Everyone knows I'm sexy, it's no big deal," he grinned again. "I'm not surprised you can't resist me. But if you don't sleep with guys because they're attractive, then tell me something... why did you sleep with Krum?" Her eyes widened. "I can't see you fancying him for his ability to make conversation – the guy could barely say your name!" Malfoy exclaimed, and Hermione glared at him.

"Viktor Krum," she began haughtily, "Is actually severely misunderstood. He's actually a really funny, sweet person," she continued, "But now that he's one of our Professors, I'm afraid we can no longer discuss my sex life with him," she announced, folding her arms.

Malfoy held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine... but you shagged _Weasley_, and heaven knows you didn't find HIM attractive."

Hermione protested once more, "I have you know that Ron is _very _good looking," she said, although it sounded like she was trying to convince herself, more than anyone, which didn't really help.

"Sure thing, Granger," Malfoy chuckled. "You keep telling yourself that."

She scowled.

"I still think it's possible that we're destined to be together," Malfoy smirked.

"Oh please, oh wise Draco Malfoy, enlighten me," exclaimed Hermione sarcastically. "And don't say anything about you being some sort of sex God," she added, "We all know that's not true," she smirked, Malfoy throwing her a dirty look.

"Fine. But I was just going to say it's quite possible you're destined for me, d'you want to know why?" He asked, cheekily.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why's that?"

"Because, dear Hermione," Malfoy said – Hermione's heart fluttering as he said her first name for the umpteenth time – "You seem to have a thing for Quidditch players; and I happen to be a very good Quidditch player –"

"You're so modest," Hermione said, sarcastically.

"You also happen to share a dormitory with me... which can I add, is convenient in the sense that we're the only ones who know about it... so that means if you ever wanted a shag; they'd be no sneaking about the castle and doing it in a broom cupboard – we'd have the place to ourselves," he winked and Hermione laughed, outraged at his suggestion.

"Malfoy, I highly doubt we were given private rooms so that we could "shag each other senseless" – somehow if you ask me, that doesn't sound like McGonagall's kind of thing," Hermione laughed. "So far all your reasons have been pathetic and shallow," she teased, as she packed her books away – it was clear they weren't going to do any work for the remaining five minutes, and for once, Hermione didn't mind.

"Well you never know. She _does _have Professor Snape and Dumbledore hanging in her office – they could've have had something to do with it," Malfoy suggested.

"So you're saying Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time is encouraging promiscuity?" Hermione laughed.

Malfoy nodded, "Why not?" Hermione threw him a pointed look. "Look, I was only joking Granger; I'm pretty sure all this eagle thing is some bullshit coincidence – but I can't say it hasn't creeped me out. I'm just saying – think about it, we'd make quite a good team," he threw her a dashing grin, and she couldn't help but smile back in spite of herself.

"If I didn't know better, Draco Malfoy," Hermione started, "I'd say you were flirting with me," she grinned triumphantly with the look of realisation on Malfoy's face. What she wasn't expecting however, was his retort.

"Maybe I was Granger, you got a problem with that?" Draco Malfoy; not one renowned for being embarrassed – for not one person had seen the blonde haired boy blush in his entire school life – had a slight tinge to his cheeks.

Hermione paused for a moment to consider how easily the banter seemed to flow between them; how their words were like sparks, jumping from person to person, and lightening things up in a way that she hadn't seen things so bright in a very long time. No, she supposed, she didn't mind.

"No problem, Malfoy," Hermione grinned, as she sauntered past him as the bell rang. "I'm just not going to let you forget that now, for the rest of the year," she grinned.

"Hey c'mon, Granger," Malfoy whined, "You were flirting too..."

She sniffed, "I don't flirt, Malfoy. I'm not some thirteen year old school girl with a crush on the King of Slytherin, I happen to actually have some self-respect. Yes, you are hot but -"

She clapped her hand over her mouth at that last sentence. She really really had not meant for that to slip out – in fact, she hadn't even known where it had come from. Wide eyed, she braved a look at Malfoy, who was regarding her with a look of curiosity, one eyebrow raised.

A long moment passed between them, Hermione feeling like she wanted the ground to open up so she could fall in and die, but Malfoy broke the silence with a smirk.

"I told you I'm sexy and I know it, Granger," he said, in almost a sing-song I-told-you-so voice, "And by the sound of things he added," his smirk growing even wider, "you do to!"

"Shut up." Hermione said, as she rolled her eyes.

"I have to say that's not one of your better comebacks, Granger," Malfoy chortled, as he danced around her in glee at her admission to thinking he was hot, that she'd just made.

"Oh whatever," Hermione spat, somewhat miffed, but on the other hand slightly embarrassed. "What lesson have we got next?" She asked.

"Guidance and Counselling," Malfoy said, "I do believe it's time for you to help me conquer my fears?" He seemed tentative, but Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Oh yes! Come on, we have to go to McGonagall's study to use the Floo Network – we need to leave the school," she explained. They began a brisk walk through the corridors, quickly making their way through the sea of students.

Malfoy was lagging behind a bit, in apprehension of the events to come, and Hermione rolled her eyes, "Come _on _Mr I'm-sexy-and-I-know it," she groaned, and he smiled at this, "Get a move on!" She grabbed his arm, somewhat forcefully, and pulled him into the green flames, shouting their destination clearly as she did so. With a whoosh, the fireplace was left empty, and a portrait of Snape looked curiously into the embers where the Gryffindor and Slytherin had been just moments before...


	21. Carpe diem, Quam Minimum Credula Postero

**Disclaimer/A/N: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*. Enjoy my spin on things and please review – writers are constantly looking to better themselves. Plus reviews have this magical ability to make me write faster… just kidding *not really*. Enjoy – Beth :) xx  
-

**Chapter Twenty One: Carpe Diem, Quam Minimum Credula Postero  
****  
** The duo landed neatly in a fireplace of a rather bare looking room – the walls were scattered with a few certificates, framed in dusty and age-battered frames, and a desk with a plush leather chair faced opposite them, but that was all – and Malfoy didn't waste any time.  
"Where are we, Granger?" He asked curiously, "I have to admit, I was thinking something more along the lines of a cemetery," he chuckled, "But I'm certainly intrigued."  
Stepping out of the grate and brushing some soot off her neatly ironed robes, Hermione answered, "We're at St Mungo's. I have a few ideas for conquering your fear – and this is phase one in the process – c'mon, the head healer is scheduled to meet us here shortly. We'll only have to wait a bit."  
Malfoy regarded Hermione curiously – he was at a loss as to why she had brought him to a _hospital_ of all places; a place which just so happened to be where they both wanted to work when the time for a job came around. Not saying anything, a comfortable silence growing between the two of them, he leant against a wall.  
The duo didn't have to wait long before a middle aged woman, with a black bob not dissimilar to the hairstyle of Professor Snape, although a lot more clean and healthy looking and a quite broad, tubby figure welcomed them warmly.  
"Hermione! It's so lovely to see you ... how're you?" The woman exclaimed enthusiastically.  
Hermione struggled to answer, having been encased in a bone crushing hug, "Esther! I'm great thanks – yourself?"  
"Fabulous! Absolutely marvellous," the witch exclaimed, finally releasing Hermione. "Of course Muriel is keeping me up _all_ the time but it's worth every minute of it," she said with a grin.  
The healer finally seemed to notice the presence of somebody else in the room, and she regarded Draco Malfoy with a somewhat curious look, "I'm so sorry," she began, and Malfoy shook his head, dismissing her ignorance of his presence. "I'm Esther Balms; head Healer here at St Mungo's. You must be Mister Malfoy, I do believe?"  
"That would be me, Ma'am," Malfoy agreed stiff with politeness – which dissipated after the black haired witch embraced him the same as she had Hermione. His expression was one of shock that initially Hermione found it hard not to laugh at – it wasn't often that the blonde haired Slytherin was caught off guard!  
"No need for the formalities, Draco," the witch grinned, "We're all friends, are we not?"  
"Yes," he mumbled, and then more resolutely, "Yes we are."  
Hermione smiled at the two people stood in front of her. Certainly if she'd been asked a year ago what she thought she'd be doing barely a week into the new school term, being in St Mungo's with Ron's family friend, and Draco Malfoy would have never have crossed her mind – it was somewhat surreal; she felt as though she was in a dream.

"Follow me," Esther instructed, as she bustled out of the office, and down the plain white, but busy, hospital corridor. They passed a man with cauliflowers as ears – likely on his way to spell damage – and she couldn't help but smile. Maybe they'd bump into her old Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, whilst they were here... of course, he was utterly doo-lally, off his rocker, whatever you wanted to call him, but that didn't stop Hermione from having a _tiny_ little crush on his still. In fact, it was actually quite embarrassing – maybe it would be a better thing _not_ to bump into him; Malfoy would never let her live it down!

She was so caught up in her daydreams about her days with the auburn haired Professor that she didn't notice the fact that they'd ascended to the top floor of the hospital, above the tea room, that had the connotation of "if you end up there, you're a goner." In other words, it was where all sick and elderly wizards went if they didn't have the care they needed at home, before they finally passed away – hopefully of old age; if not of some incurable ailment. For many wizards, they liked the sense of familiarity, more than anything else. Sure, if they were dying of cancer then they could spend their final days in a Muggle hospital – but hardly any wizard chose that option, preferring instead to spend their last few days surrounded by magical folk like themselves, people who had shaped their lives and influenced their characters.  
Hermione had always been fascinated by death; which was why she had thought of the idea in the first place. She'd first met Esther over the summer holidays – when the witch had come to visit Molly Weasley whilst Hermione was staying at the Burrow. Esther was firm friends with all of the Weasleys - and had immediately clicked with Hermione. Since their firm friendship had started to form, Hermione had visited Esther at the hospital after the birth of her baby girl, Muriel, and since then paid many regular visits. She'd become familiar with some of the long term patients, and the staff – all who recognised her talent for the art of healing, and praised and chivvied her into becoming a Healer when she graduated. Needless to say, Hermione had her contacts in the hospital; which was where her idea for conquering Malfoy's fear came to her – she knew Esther would be able to pull a few strings and get the two of them an hour or so of time with the patients.

How better to understand death, Hermione thought, than to talk to those who are closest to experiencing it than anyone else on the planet? Malfoy seemed to be processing things in his head, and when she approached a frail old witch, tucked in a hospital bed, with her sheets up to her chin, gazing off into the distance with a vacant expression, his eyes widened in realisation. Granger was inventive, he had to give her that, but he still wasn't sure that this would help him much in terms of conquering his fear.  
Hermione coughed gently, "Penelope?" She smiled warmly at the old lady, who turned her head and snapped out of her reverie with a rasping coughing fit that lasted the better part of a minute. When the old lady's coughing fit had ceased, Hermione continued. "Hello Penelope, I thought I'd pay you a visit,"  
"Lovely, dear," the old lady smiled, as she patted the bed next to her feet. "Sit down, sit down," she urged, not seeming to notice the presence of Malfoy who was standing curiously in the shadows. "What can I do for you today, my love?" The lady cooed.  
Hermione wrung her hands nervously. The idea in principle had been OK, but she wasn't actually sure how she was going to get the old lady to come out and talk about death. Maybe this was a little more complicated than she'd originally envisaged. "Well..." Hermione began nervously, "I hope you don't mind me asking," she continued," But we have an assignment to do at school, and I was wondering if you could help me," Hermione admitted.  
The old lady looked curious, wondering what had Hermione in such a mess. "Spit it out, girl," the old lady urged affectionately, "I don't bite you know. Nothing surprises me these days – whatever it is, I'll be glad to help." These words seemed to calm Hermione a bit, Malfoy noted, as the hand wringing stopped.  
"Thank you," Hermione sighed. "Well we have to learn how to conquer our fears in pairs, and I'm learning how to fly so as to conquer my fear of heights –"  
The old lady chuckled, "Well if you've come to me looking for flying lesson's I'm hardly in a fit state," Penelope grinned, "But aren't you friends with Harry Potter? I hear he's meant to be good at flying."  
Hermione laughed, "No, that's not what I came to ask; in fact, I have a very skilled Quidditch player helping me fly," she admitted, "So that's not what I needed help with. In fact, I'm meant to be helping my partner conquer his fear, fear of dying," she admitted sheepishly.  
The old lady peered at Hermione for a few moments, curiously, as if trying to gauge why Hermione felt so bad about the topic of death. Penelope knew she was only going to last a few more weeks, and that after the Doctor weaned her off her medication, she'd pass away peacefully in her slumber without so much as a clue, why did Hermione skirt away from that fact? Penelope mused, and chuckled, realising that it was because Hermione was young and she had so much ahead of her; she didn't yet quite understand death and how it would come to affect her, even though she and the people she'd surrounded herself with had had more than their fair share of death, she thought. "So where's your partner, may I ask?" Penelope asked, curiously.  
Malfoy, sensing this was his queue, stepped forward, so that he was easily visible to the woman swathed in the hospital nightgown.  
"Hello," he said cautiously, "I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, "It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."  
The old lady smiled warmly, reaching out to take Malfoy's manly hand in her own, managing a feeble squeeze. "No," she said, "The pleasure's all mine. Please," Penelope said, gesturing to the other side of the bed to where Hermione was perched, "Sit down."  
Malfoy sat down rather cautiously, and he surveyed the old woman, who was studying him.  
"What can I do to help, my dear?" She asked, addressing Hermione.  
Hermione shrugged. "I haven't really thought this out too much," she admitted. "I was thinking that the first issue to overcoming any problem is to talk about things... so maybe we could discuss with you your perception of death and dying?" She suggested, cautiously. She didn't want to upset Penelope, after all.

"Of course," Penelope smiled sadly. "Where do we begin?"  
"I was eighty four, and it was Christmas day," Penelope began, tilting her head slightly as she struggled to remember events. "A lovely Christmas day it had been too; plenty of festive cheer, too. Mince pies in batches appeared magically on the table, courtesy of our House Elves," at which Hermione struggled to suppress a gasp. She may have given up on S.P.E.W but that didn't mean she didn't have fierce views on the use of House Elves in a Domestic situation. "My daughters, Tilly and Abigail, and my Son, Fredrick and his family, his wife, Annabeth and son, Charlie, joined us, and we talked, laughed, drank and ate all day long. Charlie was adorable, zooming around the room on the model racing broom his parents had bought for him, and I spent tiresome hours playing with Quidditch figurines with him. It all changed that night," she said darkly, "I woke up with a sharp pain in my abdomen; it felt like something was tearing at my insides, thrashing, and trying to get out. I was barely conscious when they finally got me to the hospital."  
The old lady paused, taking a sip from the tumbler of water than sat beside her on the simple bedside cabinet beside her.  
"I blacked out, I think, at one point, and when I awoke, I was surrounded by several Healers and their apprentices. I knew something was wrong; all I had to do was take one look at their faces, creased with concern and etched with worry."  
Hermione looked at the old woman in front of her with a sad look, and Malfoy too sat in thought, as she continued.  
"I wasn't afraid, though," She continued. "Despite what you might think, I don't think there was one fibre of me that was worried. I've lead a happy life," she paused, smiling, "I've had children, I've witnessed them passing their exams, becoming Head Boy, winning the Quidditch House Cup... I've seen them upset, and I've comforted them when they've been heartbroken," she added, a degree of melancholy to her voice, "I've seen my children grow old enough to have children themselves," she continued, smiling fondly at the memory of her Grandson, Charlie. "I've seen Charlie grow up into a fine young wizard; exactly everything I could've hoped for as a grandchild. I've been in love – my husband and I have been married for over sixty years, now," she sighed fondly. "I've done everything I could have possibly done; and if I went back, I wouldn't change anything," Penelope admitted.

Hermione noticed Malfoy winced as his thoughts were cast to changing the past, but she shot him a look that said "you can't help your situation" – which he seemed to take in, at least.

"The idea of dying doesn't scare me – why should it? I've done everything I was put on the earth capable of doing. Sure, I've made mistakes, but don't we all?" She asked, curiously. "I've "seized the moment" each and every day of my life, living life to the full, and I don't regret a thing. Death for me is just a sign that I've reached the road of all of my accomplishments," Penelope said thoughtfully.

The old woman paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in and take effect. Malfoy sat in stony silence, whilst Hermione wiped away a tear from her eye. Always sentimental, Hermione thought to herself. But what the old lady had said had struck a chord somewhere; and reminded her that nothing lasts forever – which is why you should seize the moment, and live every day as though it's your last.

Penelope added as an afterthought, "I don't suppose it matters at what stage in your life you finally stop letting your past actions get in the way," she mused. "Sure, we all make mistakes; some more than others, but life isn't about dwelling on these mistakes, it's about moving on and becoming a better person because of them. I believe that at the end of the day, we're not judged on the person we were at school, we're judged on the person we choose to become, through our life choices. Cowards die many times before their deaths, whereas the valiant never taste of death but once – that's a quote from one of my favourite Muggle authors," Penelope added, and Hermione smiled at the Shakespeare reference.

"So bear in mind that only you can decide whether you want to make something of your life or not," Penelope said. "If you don't, then you'll probably find death a more daunting and scary prospect than if you, like me, live life to the full. I'm ill, sick and dying, but we all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases. I've accepted my fate; I know that it's nothing to be afraid of."  
The two students and the frail lady in front of them sat in a comfortable silence as they reflected the weight of the pensioner's words. Malfoy's head was spinning – it was fascinating to hear such a knowledgeable interpretation of the thing that scared him most; and he was reassured that his new mind-set was a change for the better.  
The trio's deep thoughts, however, were interrupted by the arrival of Esther, who came to tell Malfoy and Hermione it was time for them to travel back to Hogwarts – they didn't want to miss their last lesson, after all!

"Thank you so much, Penelope!" Hermione exclaimed, as she carefully hugged the frail lady. Malfoy too, bent down for a somewhat awkward hug – due to Malfoy holding his haughty posture through the duration of it.  
"You're absolutely welcome, dearie," Penelope smiled. "I just hope that the ramblings of a dying woman helped your friend, here, somewhat at least."  
Malfoy nodded feverishly, "Absolutely. Hermione's right, I owe you so much. That was very insightful," Malfoy said. The woman smiled kindly at them, and asking them to visit again, soon, she bade them farewell.

After yet more bone crushing hugs from Esther, and the refusal of a "nice cup of herbal infused tea" – Hermione had had enough of that from Professor Trelawney, thank you very much! – the duo stepped into the Emerald green flames, and with a whoosh, landed back in the roomy fireplace of McGonagall's office, where a portrait of Snape surveyed their interaction with growing curiosity – neither of the students noticing the presence of their ex Potions master in the room.  
"I have to hand it to you, Granger," Malfoy started, "When I found out where we were, I wasn't expecting much... but that was some deep stuff, back there," he said, running a hand though his hair, in a daze.  
"Glad you found it beneficial," Hermione smirked. "I knew you would."  
"Oh you did, did you?" Malfoy grinned back.  
"Of course," Hermione smiled.  
"And why would that be?" Malfoy retorted cheekily.  
"Because, dear Draco," Hermione started, not noticing Malfoy's increased heartbeat when she said his name, "My ideas are always great. C'mon, we don't want to be late to Charms," she urged, as she stuck her tongue out at him, and with a swish of her cloak that would've made Snape proud, she excited the room, Malfoy trailing after her.


	22. Jealousy & She Shows Promise

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Jealousy & She Shows Promise**

"Hermione," Malfoy began, as he half-ran, half-walked down the corridor in an attempt to catch up with the brown haired witch who was zooming along in a desperate bid to reach Charms on time, "What do you say to meeting me after dinner tonight to practice flying?" He asked, a little out of breath as he finally fell into step beside the clever witch.

"You mean _Draco Malfoy_ wants to spent time with a Gryffindor," she jibed, "voluntarily?"

He laughed, "What can I say Granger – you just seem to not be able to get rid of me. But seriously, I want both of us to pass the assignment Professor Duxhominem gave us, and I don't want to fall behind... so are you up for it?"

"Sure," she smiled, "I don't want to fail, either! What time shall I meet you, and whereabouts?"

Malfoy paused for a moment, in thought. "Well we don't want it to get _too_ late, so how about straight after dinner? That should give us an hour or so before it gets dark – as for where you'll meet me... why not the entrance to the Great Hall – after all we all finish dinner roundabouts the same time."

Hermione nodded, "That sounds good... Only an hour, mind, I have other work I must complete."

Malfoy chuckled, "You're such a nerd, Granger."

"Is that a bad thing?" Hermione retorted, pointedly, and Malfoy smiled wryly.

"I guess not. It just makes arguing with you a hell of a lot harder," he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "Anyway, I'll see you later, Granger." He added, as they entered the charms classroom.

"Yeah, see you later, Draco," Hermione said, unaware of the fact she'd called him by his first name, and unaware of the smile this brought to the blonde haired boy's face.

Almost as soon as she sat down in Charms, Ron and Harry began babbling away at her, and she found herself taken aback by the amount of information the two boys were spewing at her.

"Calm down!" She exclaimed, smiling fondly at the wizards in front of her, "One at a time. Harry, you go first," She ordered, Harry shooting Ron a so-there look.

"It was _awful_ Hermione, I'm telling you! Luna's afraid of crumpled horned thingamajiggies... Merlin knows they don't even exist. HOW am I meant to help someone confront a fear of something imaginary? How, Hermione, how? It's beyond me. And how's Luna meant to drift out of the clouds for five bloody minutes, so she can help me conquer MY fear? It's ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous!" Ron exclaimed, and Harry and Hermione shot him confused look, which he ignored. "That's the answer! Harry, you can just get Luna to practice on a Bogart – whatever it shows her has got to be better than what you can come up with! What does a crumpled thing-a-wotsit even look like _anyway?_"

"That's great Ron – thanks! Anyway, how did your session go?" Harry asked Ron, whilst Hermione sat there, feeling a bit bemused.

"It was alright, I guess," Ron said, the tips of his ears turning red. "Parvati and I didn't really _do_ much work..." He trailed off, as he saw Hermione and Harry were both raising an eyebrow at him. "Well... we kind of ..." His face was now the shade of a beetroot. "Well we didn't do _any_ work," he amended.

Harry looked between his best friends. Was it possible that Ron had found a replacement for Hermione only a few days back into the term? "Ron," Harry asked, "What exactly did you do, then, with Parvati?" His eyebrow was raised, as if he already knew the answer but just wanted Ron to say it out loud.

"Erm well... well she kissed me, err, and one thing kind of led to another –"

"That's enough, Ron," Harry said, warningly, from the look on Hermione's face.

A stony silence was formed between the trio, one which was building up tension and threatening to blow, until Harry broke the silence again. "So Hermione... how was your time with Malfoy, this morning?"

Ron muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and Hermione chose to ignore him; stupid prick, running off with Parvati the first chance he got.

"It was good thanks, actually," she smiled, her voice sickly sweet. "He's completely changed, he's a really nice person, actually, once you get to know him. He's really funny, and sweet – and he's ever so intelligent," she said viciously, with a glance in Ron's direction. "Oh, and he's taking me flying after dinner tonight," she dropped in, nonchalantly towards the end. At this, Ron's head whipped up and he glared at Hermione.

"What do you want to spend time for that evil little ferret, for, anyway Hermione? If you ask me, I'd say you fancy him."  
She scoffed at the preposition; pushing a niggling thought to the back of her mind. "Don't be ridiculous Ronald; you're the only one _frolicking_ off with your Guidance and Counselling partner at the first chance you get!" She spat, bitterly, and Ron snarled.

"You're just jealous, Hermione," Ron mumbled, but loud enough for Hermione to hear.

"Jealous, Ron? Why would I be jealous of Parvati?" Hermione demanded, her voice becoming shriller and shriller. "If I remember correctly _I_ broke things off with _you_." Her tone was vicious, and with that, she turned away from the red head next to her, and began scribbling furiously.

She didn't talk to Ron for the rest of the day, and after a while, Harry stopped trying to fix things as well – seeing that his efforts to make conversation weren't getting them anywhere, and that both Hermione and Ron needed time to cool off before he tried to get them to make amends. So Harry busied himself with his girlfriend Ginny, whilst Ron chatted half-heartedly to Seamus about Quidditch, whilst Hermione sat in stony silence, at dinner in the Great Hall; pushing food around her plate instead of in the direction of her mouth. When the meal ended, she didn't bother saying goodbye to her "friends" seeing as Harry was preoccupied with his tongue down Ginny's throat – disgusting, even if they were a sweet couple – and, well, she wasn't talking to Ron.

Malfoy had finished a while before Hermione, and he was casually leaning against one of the pillars outside the Great Hall, when she exited. He'd watched the display in charms earlier, and had been somewhat worried – but hadn't had a chance to say anything to her.

"You alright, Hermione?" he asked, an edge of concern mixed in with interest.

She sniffed, "Never better."

"Sure?" Malfoy asked, "It's just I've been on the receiving end of one of your punches before," he reminded her, "And if you feel the need to punch something, I want to be at least five metres away from you – my nose is very precious to me," he joked. Hermione smiled, instead of laughing like she would've if she hadn't have been in such a foul mood. Nevertheless, a smile was the best she'd managed since her argument with Ron, and on the way down to the Quidditch pitch, as the two of them chattered amicably, she felt the tension in her shoulders and neck ease, and her mood brightened considerably.

By the time they reached the pitch, her bad mood had dissipated, and she was laughing at Draco's impression of Pansy Parkinson. When Malfoy produced his broom, and a spare broom (which she guessed he had plenty of, being rich and all) a twinge of nervousness hit her. She really didn't like flying... well, she didn't like flying on her _own._ Flying with Malfoy, however, had proven to be a different story.

Ten minutes later, after a quick "warm up" lap round the pitch of the back of Malfoy's broom – very comforting, noted Hermione, was the smell of his aftershave; spicy apples and a distinct masculine fragrance which she couldn't quite place – Malfoy was practically tearing his hair out in frustration.

'Hermione, it's not that hard!' He exclaimed somewhat frustratedly, as he handed her the broomstick he'd brought out for her to use. "All you have to say is "up" and the broomstick will obey. How hard can it be?" The witch shot him daggers, to which he took a step backwards.

"Don't push me, Malfoy," Hermione warned; her voice sharp and definitely on edge. "This isn't something which comes naturally to me – unlike it does for you – it'll take time for me to progress. Please just be patient," she urged at the end. Malfoy nodded, and raked his hair back, but it just flopped back into place again, giving him a roguish, carefree appearance.

"Okay… just take your time... relax, and when you're ready, say "up"." He instructed, taking another step back so that he stood by his broom. Hermione grimaced in concentration as she stood next to her broom, pushed a curl behind her ear and raised her hand over the broom for what felt like the millionth time that day.  
"Up," she said, in a tone as calm and composed as she could muster. To her surprise, the broom leapt up and hovered around her waist. She did a little jump with glee, and Malfoy grinned encouragingly, from where he sat, now already mounted on his broom.

"Okay… now, get on it," Malfoy instructed. When Hermione shot him a clueless look, he elaborated. "In order to mount, you need to sit on it and hold yourself on by putting your knees together."

Hermione clambered onto the broom in an entirely unladylike manner, but she managed to stay on it this time, without the broom bucking or trying to get rid of its unwanted passenger. Draco smiled encouragingly – out of character for him, Hermione noted, as she couldn't think of a day where she hadn't seen him without his trademark smirk at some point. He ascended gradually, the wind whipping his blonde locks around his head. Hermione glanced at the ground and pulled the nose of the broom upwards, causing her to shoot upwards in a nearly straight trajectory. However, she managed to right the broom almost immediately – and without any help from Malfoy, either, she noted proudly.

"Oops," she laughed, finally high enough to admire the view below. It wasn't as scary as she thought it would be, being this high. The broom wasn't moving under her, so she felt very safe, and at peace, as she surveyed the scenery. Well, only until Malfoy whipped past her, blonde hair streaking past, as he circled her, grinning. She let out a surprised gasp, a blush colouring her cheeks at the sound of the girly scream she gave.

"Don't do that!" She exclaimed, scolding him.

Malfoy merely laughed, "Do what, Granger?" He teased.

"You know all too well what! Don't zoom past me on the broom, I may have made it off the ground this time, but I'm still shaky!" She exclaimed.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly. He redeemed himself, though, by saying, "You were flying so well that I forgot you were inexperienced," he winked, and Hermione laughed at his blatant cheek.

"Draco?" Hermione began cautiously, again not noticing the effect her choice of word had on the boy.

"Mhmm?" He acknowledged her, indulging her somewhat.

"Thanks for teaching me." She said solemnly.

"You're welcome, Hermione, we'll make a great Quidditch player out of you yet," he grinned.

"You really think?" She joked, as she cruised slowly around the pitch, at a speed which Malfoy matched in order for them to continue their conversation.

"Absolutely, Granger," he laughed. "Why, with my training we'll have you able to beat Krum anytime," he grinned, cheekiness just radiating off his face.

In that one moment, Hermione found herself wanting to kiss Draco Malfoy. Hermione Granger wanted to _kiss_ Draco Malfoy. Merlin! She thought there must be something wrong with her. What had brought that sudden urge on? Nearly as quickly as it had come, the desire to smother his thin lips with her own, plump rosy ones disappeared, leaving her shaken. . She couldn't believe that she'd wanted to kiss him… kiss Malfoy! Had he noticed any change in her persona in those few brief seconds? She hoped not. Shaking herself, she concentrated on taking a particularly sharp corner, and feeling the whip of the wind against her robes.

For a brief moment back then, Malfoy could've sworn Hermione had looked embarrassed about something – she hadn't done anything stupid, so it had to be a thought she'd had... he hoped it was a dirty one; dirty thoughts were fun. Then a flash of realisation hit him? What if she'd been thinking something about him? But as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Malfoy watched the brown haired girl, deep in concentration, and a part of him wanted to kiss her – despite the impracticality of being several feet off the ground – she looked so cute when her face was scrunched up in concentration, and her hair was mussed up from the wind. Malfoy mentally shook himself; finding it hard to believe that he'd just used the word "cute" to describe Hermione Granger. They completed the lap in silence.

In the silence, Malfoy had been analysing Hermione, as she'd become more and more confident with flying (her face was no longer scrunched up in pure concentration) – and he noted that she was actually rather good at flying for a novice; her timing for handling bends was impeccable; she had a good gauge of speed and acceleration, and she also handled the broomstick with natural grace – something which hadn't been apparent when she'd first mounted it. He decided to try something.

"Granger?" He asked, and she snapped out of her reverie to look at him. "I think you're ready to put your skills to the test," he grinned. "On the count of three, I'll race you from here to the Slytherin post and back." She grinned competitively – Hermione Granger always strove to beat others – and she nearly missed it, when Malfoy reached "three..."

Draco shot out ahead and she followed, leaning down over her broomstick to reduce air resistance, manipulating the broom to cut through the air. After a few seconds, she levelled with Malfoy; and she noticed he was actually doing his best – not trying to let her win, surprisingly... but then again, he is a Slytherin, Hermione reminded herself - his face screwed up in concentration. She focused on the post ahead, turning in sync with him as they reached it, looping through the hoop with flair, to the amusement of Malfoy who just swerved round it.

There were a few metres left, and both students were clenching their teeth in desperation. They whizzed past the Gryffindor goalpost at the exact same time – and a huge grin spread over Hermione's face.

"I nearly beat you! Ha!" She exclaimed, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I nearly beat you _and_ you have a better broom than me!" She pointed out, much to Malfoy's annoyance.

"That may be so, Granger," he agreed, "But the point is you _didn't_ beat me, we drew. As for the brooms... well, I guess you do have some natural ability after all."

She beamed.

"Must you be good at everything?" He moaned, head in his hands in despair. Why did she have to be so god darn good at _everything_?

"I'm still useless at sewing," Hermione admitted, and Malfoy scoffed.

"That's not a skill –"

"Well not when you have magic, no –"

"Exactly –"

"Whatever –"

"I win-"

"No, I do," Hermione chuckled, as they both touched back down on the pitch. She managed to get off the broom slightly more dignified than earlier, earning her a pat on the back from herself.

The two students were walking back to the castle, whilst a bemused Hagrid had stood and watched the scene before him with disbelieving eyes.

"So, Hermione," Malfoy started. "I think we could do one better than helping you conquer your fear of flying," he admitted, "What do you say to me teaching you Quidditch?"

Hermione smiled, "You really think I'm that good?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You've got talent – just like in every bloody other thing you attempt –" he added, jostling her shoulder jokingly, "So I don't see why not. What do you say, M'lady?"

"I would be _delighted_ to accept your offer, Mr Malfoy," she announced in a ridiculously put-on "posh" voice.

Laughing and joking all the way up to their common room, Hermione and Malfoy finally collapsed into their separate beds happy, for the first time in a long, long time.


	23. Incentive to Move

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Incentive to Move**

Whilst Hermione and Malfoy slept in peaceful slumber; elsewhere in the castle, Professor McGonagall sat at her desk fretting over administrative tasks – and of course the major issue resting on her head, of house unity.

She could see straight away that she'd done the right thing by trying to coerce Malfoy into a friendship with Hermione – already the boy was a different person – he hadn't got into trouble _once_, a record for the King of Slytherin. Hermione too was already blossoming in her classes (or so she'd deduced, from the snippets of staffroom gossip she'd been privy to), yet her friendship with Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter left a lot to be desired. From what McGonagall could see, the fiery Weasley boy had let fame get to his head a bit – and had started taking people for granted – not surprisingly, Hermione had grown sick of this and thereon after, their friendship had been on rocky ground.

McGonagall faced a dilemma; she wanted to houses to stand united, and she was already taking measures to ensure they were – but she didn't want to remove the students' freewill (heaven knows how many magical laws that would break, she shuddered) but at the same time, she wanted to hurry things along a little. Malfoy and Hermione's friendship was one thing... but could Albus be right? What if there was something stronger brewing between the two students? Could it hurt to push them along a little bit?

Professor Snape's portrait spoke up on cue, as if he could read her mind. Could portraits even read minds? Minerva shuddered. Whether he was on the right side or not; Snape being inside your head was enough to give anyone nightmares. "I saw your two guinea pigs, earlier, Minerva," Snape announced, his cutting voice slicing through the silence of her office. "They looked rather friendly, as horrified as I am to admit it... but I imagine you want to speed things up a bit?"

Albus Dumbledore's portrait raised his head curiously, joining the conversation. "Yes, yes, it is important that the students are at one with one another... but what can we do, other than resort to the restriction of freewill?"

"I will NOT resort to that, Albus," McGonagall remarked scathingly; disgusted at the preposition that she use magic on the students. After all, hadn't it been her who had informed Professor Moody/Crouch about the all-important rule? "We must NEVER use magic on students – it's absolutely forbidden!"

"Nor did I suggest you did, my dear Minerva. Severus, do you have any ideas?" Dumbledore asked the greasy haired Potions master – who managed to retain his hair style even when a painting.

"Hmm..." Snape said curiously. "If I'm as much as Slytherin as I claim to be, what I reckon Mr Malfoy needs is an incentive to make a move on the mud- Miss Granger –" He corrected hastily. "Yes. That's right. Give him competition for the girls' affection, and before you know it, he'll be on one knee and proposing to her." He let out a dark cackle – the mere idea of his Godson marrying his least favourite know-it-all gave him shivers all up and down his acrylic back.

Dumbledore beamed from his portrait, "Severus, my friend, that is an _excellent_ idea! Minerva, when does the Zabini boy return from Italy? He's close friends with Mr Malfoy, is he not?"

A twinkle came to Professor McGonagall's eye – Snape was right; she could see it now... giving Malfoy that little push towards Hermione, make him fight for her. It was an entirely Slytherin idea, but then again, Malfoy _was_ a Slytherin. She just hoped Hermione would be fine – being such a fine specimen of a student, McGonagall would hate to see her get hurt (not that she'd ever admit that she saw herself in the brown haired Gryffindor witch!) – After all she'd been hurt before when the Quidditch player Krum, and Ronald Weasley had been fighting over her. "He's back later this evening, Albus. That is an excellent idea – the two boys are good enough friends so as not to spill any blood over Hermione –"

Severus laughed, "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Minerva. They _are_ Slytherins after all. But in my opinion, if you created a scenario where Zabini and Malfoy are working with Granger – alone," he added darkly, "Then Zabini will figure out Malfoy's feelings for the girl, and won't stop, whatever it takes, until he gets my Godson to admit it, that he's in love with Granger."

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, I agree, Severus, that _is_ the most likely scenario. But pray do tell – what happens if Blaise falls for Hermione as well?"

Snape rolled his eyes, "I would've thought the answer would be obvious, Albus. Well Miss Granger would have to choose between the two boys – either way; you get your house unity, Minerva."

McGonagall nodded. "Yes, I agree. It doesn't really matter which Slytherin forms the union between the houses – my only thoughts were that if it was Malfoy, Potter - the two students share a great deal of personal history – would be the first to embrace house unity; seeing as he's such good friends with Miss Granger. But we can't be fussy – a union between the houses is all that we want, here."

"Might I suggest," Snape drawled, "That you speak with Professor Babbling about the plan? Get her to include Zabini in the separate task she's set for Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger? I can assure you that the boys' grades are up to scratch, and the private setting will give ample opportunity for the boys to compete for Miss Granger's affections..."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," Dumbledore grinned.

"Excellent idea, Severus. I'll see to that right away," McGonagall nodded. She paused, "Thank you."

Both Dumbledore and Snape bowed their heads to acknowledge her thanks, falling into a comfortable silence as the Head teacher bustled out of her office in order to track down Professor Babbling.

***  
"Alicia!" McGonagall called out, as she spotted the plump witch bob around a corner, deep in conversation with Professor Sprout. Sure enough, the witch stopped, looking at the elderly woman curiously.

"What can I do for you, Minerva?" She asked, as Professor Sprout went to talk to a group of nervous looking first years.

"Well... I have a request to make. You know "the plan"?" The teacher nodded. "Well there have been some amendments made to it... due to time constraints, in order to form the house unity more quickly, Albus, Severus and myself have all agreed that Mr Malfoy needs an incentive, if you will, to be pushed towards Miss Granger. We've agreed to use his natural friendship with Mr Zabini – who will be arriving from Italy later this evening – to coerce him into admitting his feelings, and in order to do that, we need you to include Mr Zabini in the separate task of deciphering your Grandfather's journals, is that alright?"

"Of course, Minerva. But aren't a lot of things at risk here – it's not right to go tampering with peoples' friendships, you know," She remarked, but Professor McGonagall waved the thought away.

"We won't be tampering with their feelings, though," she assured, "I promise you, every single little emotion that Miss Granger, Mr Zabini and Mr Malfoy feel will be real. Pure, solid, genuine emotion – and nothing we do will change that."

Professor Babbling nodded. "In that case, I'll get right onto it tomorrow, then," she smiled, and the Professor returned the grin.

"Thanks you, Alicia, it means a lot, it really does. The sooner the students of Hogwarts are united, the better!"

"Indeed, Minerva. Anyway, goodnight!"

The two women bade each other farewell as set off on their separate routes around the castle.

It was about one when Mr Filch brought Blaise Zabini up to McGonagall's study – just as well, as the elderly Professor was just about to go to bed, as well! The youth was different to how she remembered him; but then again, she supposed the Final Battle had lasting effects on everyone, even her, she sighed. He was tall; at least the same height as Malfoy, if not taller, with a dark complexion and black hair. His jaw was strong, and he had prominent cheekbones, and McGonagall supposed that had she been Hermione's age, she would've found him extremely attractive. His eyes were a dark brown colour and they took on a bitter spark; except there was a fiery darkness mixed in there too. He was known amongst the teaching staff at Hogwarts for being somewhat of a dark horse; he was mysterious and broody, but at the same time incredibly clever. He was competing with Granger and Malfoy for grades, and had a certain prowess for the Dark Arts. His friendship with Draco Malfoy was one which had stood fast even through the result of the Final Battle – maybe he was, McGonagall thought, the only true friend Malfoy had ever made. Nevertheless, now he had arrived at Hogwarts, the second stage of her plan could be put into action. She finished her appraisal of the boy, welcomed him back, gave him the notices she'd given the other eighth years, and showed him to the dormitory that everyone bar Malfoy and Hermione shared.

When Blaise enquired about the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, the head teacher informed him of his newly acquired position of Head Boy; which was met with a look of hurt. Betrayal even. It was well known that Zabini had sought after Malfoy's position for the duration of his school life – and by the look on his face, it appeared as though he believed he was more deserving of the honour, rather than Malfoy. Oh well, McGonagall thought, maybe that'll mean he'll be even more competitive with Malfoy for Hermione's affections – if he can stake his claim for Hermione, maybe he won't feel so hard done by. She bade the broody Slytherin goodnight, and drawing her cloak around her, made her way up to her room where she fell into a dreamless sleep...

The next day, Herbology and Astronomy passed without much incident – Hermione was still refusing to talk to Ron; Harry was sucking face with Ginny, instead of trying to be Peacemaker, and Malfoy and Hermione worked together without a hiccup in their planning for their project in Astronomy. By the time lesson three rolled around, Ancient Runes, Hermione was severely pissed off at a certain red head, and was annoyed to see that Malfoy already had someone to sit next to. Blaise Zabini, Hermione thought, as she sat next to Ronald but refusing to look at him. He'd changed a lot she noted – broadened out, beefed up a bit. In fact, he looked more mature than every other male in the eighth year; and his eyes spoke of troubled times and hardship, but they had a playful note to them, as well. Whoever had said that the eyes are a window to a person's soul, Hermione thought, was a genius.

Professor Babbling called for attention and began explaining the year's work. Hermione paid attention to everything the teacher was saying; but as hard as she listened, she didn't hear anything remotely new or intriguing. How disappointing. As soon as the teacher had finished, her hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Well, sorry Professor, to be a pain... it's just I've already covered everything you've just mentioned, and well... I was hoping for a bit more of a _challenge,_" Hermione explained, cautiously.

"Not to worry Miss Granger; I am well aware of that fact – which is why you, Mr Zabini and Mr Malfoy have a separate assignment for the term. I have a collection of old journals belonging to my Grandfather which I wish for you to translate. I would do it myself, but between teaching and marking, I just don't have the time," she explained. "I've set aside my old office, in the Restricted Section of the library, where you will not be disturbed. You can work there when the rest of the class study here; and I expect everything to be translated by Christmas for you to pass... is that clear?"

Hermione grinned eagerly – translating an actual manuscript had been a desire of hers for a _long_ time, and she could tell, even if she was in the company of two Slytherins, that this would be a challenging but fun task, all the same. "That's great, Professor! When do we start?"

Malfoy and Zabini were listening curiously. Zabini spoke up, his accent like melted chocolate, making several girls swoon, "We won't be supervised, Professor?" He asked curiously. What was the world coming to, putting a Gryffindor in a room with two Slytherin boys? But of course, he wasn't to know about Malfoy and Hermione's new found friendship...

Professor Babbling shook her head. "No, Mr Zabini, is that a problem for you?"

"Not at all, Professor," he shook his head looking amused.

"Excellent. In answer to your question, Miss Granger, you can go now to my office, here's the key," she handed an antique looking key to the girl, "I suggest you spend the duration of this lesson organising the office somewhat – and take the time to get to know the people you will be working with," she added, smiling.

Hermione beamed, "Great! See you later, then, Professor!"

"Good luck," Professor Babbling said, smiling fondly at Hermione – one of her favourite students. "Oh, I almost forgot to mention, I will be checking up on you at random intervals, just to let you know. I'm sure you'll be very hard-working, and that won't be a problem, but just to let you know."

Hermione nodded, shoving her things into her bag in a hurry – the excitement in plain view on her face. "That's fine Professor."

"Good luck, Mr Malfoy, Mr Zabini, and Miss Granger. But of course, I'm sure you won't need it, with the brains amongst you," the Professor smiled. "Of you go – I have a lesson to teach, you know!" The class chuckled, as Hermione all but bolted out the door.

Malfoy swung his shoulder bag over his shoulder, and followed suit. Zabini gathered his belongings and sauntered out of the classroom, in no hurry to catch up with Hermione, nor his friend for that matter. Blaise reached the library about five minutes after Hermione and Malfoy (who he'd assumed had all but ran there), and when he did, the sight before him intrigued him.

Draco Malfoy, his best friend, was stood across from the girl that the blonde boy had dubbed "Mudblood Granger" back in First year, talking to her and laughing along with her as if there was nothing extraordinary about the circumstance. He shook his head. Surely he was seeing things – Malfoy wasn't _friends_ with Granger, was he? Sure, he knew Malfoy had had a change of heart since the Battle, but not _this_ much!

"Malfoy?" Blaise asked amused, and the blonde haired boy caught his gaze as it travelled between Hermione and himself. Oh, he thought to himself. Looks like I've got some explaining to do.

"Hey Blaise. Hey Hermione," he said, turning to the eager witch. "Why don't you go in and take a look around? I want to talk to Blaise for a minute – I haven't seen him all summer," he added. She nodded, and obliged, opening the creaky office door and disappearing inside.

Once she was out of sight, Blaise raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I didn't know you were friends with Granger, Malfoy," he smirked.

"Oh yeah... about that. Well we're both Head Boy and Girl, we share a dorm," he explained, but Zabini's eyebrows shot up.  
"You're fucking her?" He asked, incredulously.

"No! No I'm not!" Malfoy exclaimed - embarrassed at the conclusion Zabini had reached. "We're both working together, and I've learnt to question some of my father's ideals about Muggleborns over the summer, now that he's gone," he said, his tone explanatory. "She's a nice girl, you know. She's funny, smart, and she can actually hold a conversation," Malfoy continued, sticking up for the Gryffindor witch.

"Dude," Blaise interrupted. "I'm not judging you. I just didn't know you were friends with her, that's all. You know how I feel about Muggleborns, I mean; I _am_ a Half-blood and all. If you're cool with Granger, then so am I. Besides," he added, grinning cheekily, "Somebody got hot over the summer," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and ducking into the room Hermione was in, too soon to register the look on Malfoy's face – a look that would've certainly given the game away immediately.

A blushing Malfoy took a few seconds to compose himself, before he too entered the room. This was going to be an interesting year, he thought to himself, smiling amusedly.

**A/N:**A bit of healthy competition from Blaise seems to be on the cards. What do you thinks going to transpire between the two Slytherin boys and Hermione, hmm? – Reviews would be great – Beth :) xx


	24. Teenage Angst

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Teenage Angst**

Professor Babbling's old office wasn't anything special – but what excited Hermione, more than anything, were the large piles of dusty volumes that were stacked in boxes. The smell of dust and old, yellowed pages alone were enough to make Hermione happy – she led such a simple life, she thought to herself.

Blaise broke the silence, amused at the way Hermione was acting. "So, Hermione," he began, "I don't believe we've ever actually been introduced," he chuckled. "Blaise Zabini, at your service." He then did an elaborate bow, enough to make Hermione giggle, but Malfoy simply rolled his eyes in disgust.

For the duration of the session, Malfoy didn't say much; focusing on sorting the collection of tomes into piles, and listening with bitterness as his friend divulged his life story to Hermione, who listened eagerly, interjecting at all the right points.

As much as he loved Blaise, he really wished he wasn't such a lady charming, devilishly handsome whatever-you-want-to-call-him. How was he meant to get Hermione to even _look_ at him, now that Blaise was back in town? He sighed dejectedly, and returned back to sorting through the books.

The session ended, and Hermione, beaming, exclaimed that she couldn't wait to get started on the project with the both of them before rushing off to lunch.

Once she'd left, Malfoy too made his exit, Blaise following in his wake. "Man, what's got your knickers in a twist?" Asked Blaise, a note of concern in his voice.

"Nothing," Malfoy spat, as he followed his feet to the Great Hall.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me, mate," Blaise laughed, "If you ask me, looks like you're throwing a hissy fit just because Granger's fallen in love with me," he laughed, no idea of how close to the truth he was.

"She's _not_ in love with you," Malfoy pointed out, "She's only just met you," he added, "and besides, I'm just tired, that's all."

"Ooh, defensive," Blaise joked, "Don't worry, I won't steal your little Muggleborn away from you..." he smirked.

"She's not _my _Muggleborn," he spat – a note of regret in his voice that Blaise didn't seem to pick up on.

"Oh sorry, mate, I was under the illusion that you two were a "thing"," Blaise joked, still being incredibly obtuse. "In that case, you won't mind if I get a taste of her, then," he laughed, helping himself to some roast potatoes.

"Do what you want," Malfoy said angrily, stabbing his chicken with more force than necessary. He ignored the Italian boy beside him, and his persistent attempt at making conversation, instead turning his attention to the Gryffindor table. He hated how she sat, laughing with Potter and the female Weasley – talking about all kinds of inconsequential tat, he suspected, whilst he nursed his dented ego over a plate of chicken, pushing feelings of jealousy of his best friend's new rapport with Hermione to the back of his mind.

After the Veritaserum lesson from the day before, they had a simple written lesson to look forward to in Potions; and Malfoy wasn't looking forward to it, that was, until Hermione deposited herself on the chair between himself and Blaise, as if it was a totally normal thing to do. In that instant, Malfoy made his mind up that he'd give Blaise a taste of his own medicine, and monopolise Hermione's attention for the duration of the lesson. He grinned to himself – he really was _such _a Slytherin.

"Hey," Blaise said, and Malfoy went one better, enveloping Hermione in a hug that earned him a small laugh from Hermione and a raised eyebrow from Blaise.

"My, someone's happy to see me," Hermione laughed, as she righted her robe. "How was lunch?" She asked.

"Meh... I've had better," Malfoy said. "The chicken was a bit dry," he stated, mentally slapping himself after he did so.

Blaise shot him another funny look. "If you ask me, Malfoy, the conversation was the only _dry_ thing," he drawled.  
Malfoy glared at him, all of this happening without Hermione really noticing anything. "Oh really, and who's fault was that?"

Before the spat between the two Slytherins could develop, Professor Slughorn breezed in – late as per usual – and began the lesson. Two rolls of parchment later, and Hermione, Blaise and Malfoy between them had written everything they now knew about Veritaserum down. Malfoy grinned, thinking back to the incident where they'd both been under the influence of the truth serum. That had been a very _enlightening_ lesson, he chuckled.

The rest of the lesson passed without much incident; instead, as soon as Hermione stepped outside the classroom, Ron pounced.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" Ron snarled at Hermione, who looked taken aback.

"What, you're speaking to me now, are you?" She retorted.

"That's irrelevant! "What I want to know is what the HELL do you think you're playing at, sitting in between Malfoy and that twat Zabini?" Ron demanded.

"I'm not_ playing_ at anything, Ronald," Hermione snarled. "They just happen to be better friends to me, right now, than you're being!" She huffed.

"But, but but –" Ron stuttered in anger, "They're from SLYTHERIN!"

"Well done, Ronald, you've finally worked that out," remarked Hermione, sarcastically.

"You're fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!" Ron accused, triumphantly.

Hermione nearly tore her hair out in frustration. "Would you just LISTEN to yourself, Ronald Weasley! There IS no enemy; the war is OVER! We won, now can we just get on with our lives?"

"OVER? OVER? It's alright for you – you didn't bloody lose anything, Hermione. But I did. Oh I did – and so did Harry. So excuse me for hating the people who're the reason that Fred is GONE, Hermione, GONE, but if you ask me, Malfoy's the same egotistical pretentious twat that he's always been, and ALWAYS WILL BE!"

"How dare you, Ron, I lost Tonks and Lupin and Fred mattered to me too! How dare you say that! And he's NOT, Ronald, why can't you see that? You're living in the PAST! Malfoy isn't the same Malfoy he once was – and if he was, do you really think I'd be friends with him? I'd have expected better from you, Ron, if I'm honest!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice shrill, and on the edge of tears.

"Fine. You know what Hermione? I don't care. Just go fuck Malfoy or whatever, because I GIVE UP. You've changed, Hermione, and if I'm honest, I don't like the person you've become." He turned on his heels and stormed off in the direction of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Hermione followed, seething with rage and frustration – and wanting to punch something, or rather _someone_, she added darkly.

Professor Krum noticed that Hermione was in a foul mood – and to be honest, something was probably wrong with him if he didn't; after all, he _had_ dated her for nearly a year, and besides, she wasn't hiding it all too well. It didn't surprise Hermione when he asked her to stay behind after class; not noticing that Draco Malfoy was hanging outside the door.

"Vat is wrong, Hermy-own-ninny?" He asked, his tone injected with concern.

"Nothing, Professor, I'm fine." She said steely.

"Vat is not true; just look at you. Vat is the matter?" He asked again, his tone sympathetic.

"I've just been having some arguments with Ron, lately, that's all," she admitted, shrugging.

"He has not hurt you, has he?" Krum demanded, relaxing when Hermione shook her head. "Vell then I am afraid there is little I can do – but I am always here if you vant to talk to someone. But remember Hermione that the war was a bad time for everyone – and some have harder times coping than others. This, I fear, is the case vith your friend, Ron. Be patient, and don't forget the value of friendship – but make sure you make time for your other friends," he added too. Hermione nodded.

"Thank you, Professor," she sniffed, meekly. He smiled kindly down at the girl before him, and dismissed her.

Malfoy was waiting outside the DADA classroom for her – even though it was already two minutes into Transfiguration. She smiled at the thought that Slytherin had risked getting into trouble with McGonagall just so that he could wait for her – and she gratefully took the handkerchief that he offered her.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" He asked, his voice sounding fuller of emotion that she would ever expect from Draco Malfoy.  
She shook her head, "It's Ron. He just doesn't get it – that I'm friends with you because you're a good person. He doesn't understand that you've changed; that you've seen the error of your ways, and I'm just getting sick of trying to explain that to him. He's developed this attitude that makes him think that he's King of the world, just because Harry defeated Voldemort –" Malfoy shuddered at the name, "and it makes me sick!" She exclaimed, letting out a breath that she didn't know she was holding.

Malfoy sighed, and gave Hermione an awkward side hug as they made their way to Transfiguration. She smiled, slightly, as they passed a Ravenclaw who looked at them in utter confusion. A few moments passed, and Malfoy began to sing, under his breath "Weasley is Our King", the song that the Slytherin's had made up about Ron. It brought a smile to Hermione's face, and by the time they reached the Transfiguration classrooms, she and Malfoy were chatting amicably; even laughing.

You can imagine the looks of surprise on everyone's faces when Hermione Granger arrives to Transfiguration, her favourite subject, late. You can imagine how much more surprised they are when Draco Malfoy follows, a step behind her, and you can imagine how close to exploding with surprise people are, when laughing, the duo collapse into the spare seats without so much as an care.

"Sorry we're late, Professor," Hermione stated, bravely putting herself up for slaughter from McGonagall. But sudden death didn't come; instead, McGonagall was smirking with an amused edge to her smile. "Professor Krum kept Malfoy and me."

"Very well, Miss Granger. See to it that your appointments with other teachers don't interfere with my class time again," she chided, half-heartedly.

The lesson passed, with Hermione and Malfoy sharing the odd joke now and again, ignoring the looks of disgust Ron threw their way. No one noticed the semi-triumphant expression that graced the face of Professor McGonagall – due to her plan seeming to start to sprout – or the fact that she didn't give them _half_ as much homework as usual. Hermione threw an apologetic look in Harry's direction, who had to suffer Ron's rants about Hermione and her new found love of "the Dark Side". Harry rolled his eyes, making Hermione laugh.

"Are you free after dinner, Hermione?" Malfoy asked. Hermione regarded him curiously. Why was he asking her?

"I suppose my appointment with my homework could be pushed to a later date," she admitted, "Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to spend a bit of time flying?" She nodded, thinking it best to practice her newly acquired skill before it escaped her completely. "I've got something I'd like to show you."

Curious to see whatever it was that Malfoy wanted to show her, Hermione nodded, "Sounds great. I'll meet you at the edge of the Quidditch pitch at about eight, then?" She asked. He shook his head.

"No, meet me by the edge of the Black Lake. We'll have further to go, that way," he explained, and Hermione agreed immediately; her curiosity piqued. ..

**A/N:** Man typing in shouty capitals is SO MUCH FUN – What did you think? – Beth :) xx


	25. An Exception to Every Rule

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty-Five: An Exception to Every Rule**

Hermione practically wolfed down her dinner of pasta and tomato sauce – and she nearly choked on her meringue at one point; so desperate to gulp it down and get to the Black lake in order to meet Malfoy, that Ginny had had to thump her on the back several times to dislodge the piece of food. Ron was still shooting "You've really hurt me and I hate you" looks her way, but she'd gotten over it and was practically ignoring him, aside from asking him to pass her a plate, which he'd done, but only because Harry made him.  
Harry was still talking to Hermione, although it was evident that her new found friendship with Malfoy aggravated him to some extent – but even if he was, he didn't show it as much as Ron. Hermione chatted to Ginny about the latest Hogwarts rumours, and Harry put his opinion in now and again, too.

As soon as the end of the meal arrived, she bade her friends farewell and made as polite and exit she could – but once she got past the doors of the Great Hall, she practically flew to her dormitory, where she critiqued herself in the bathroom mirror that she shared with Malfoy. She wasn't quite sure why she cared so much about Malfoy thought about her; but lately she'd become more and more self-conscious around him, which is why she cast a slight de-frizzing spell on her hair, smoothed out the crumples in her uniform, looked at herself, and sighed. The fact that she didn't have new uniform meant that she felt very uncomfortable in the shirt that stretched a little _too_ tightly across her boobs. She stripped all her clothes off, putting them in the laundry basket for the house elves to clean, and selected a creamy white tank top which she layered with a burgundy cardigan and gold chain, and skin tight jeans which fit her thighs smugly. Twisting her hair up into a loose knot on the back of her head, she regarded herself again. Much better, she thought to herself. Grabbing the broomstick that Malfoy had leant her, she hurried out to the Black Lake; thankful for the cardigan which she'd chosen to wear because it was beginning to get a bit chilly.

When she got there, she found that maybe she shouldn't have rushed quite so much – Malfoy wasn't there, yet, anyway. Sitting down on a nearby rock she sighed, dropping the broomstick to the floor. She really wished life wasn't so complicated, sometimes. Why did there have to be a difference between people with two wizarding parents, and someone with none? Why did the Final Battle and its outcome have to affect her, still, and likely her children too; that is, if she ever had any... why did everything have to be so God damn unfair? She wished she could fix things with Ron; because they had had some amazing years and experiences together... but at the same time she sensed this was one of those things which just can't be fixed. There's a time in peoples' lives, Hermione thought to herself, where they change; both who they are and their relationships with people, and once it's happened, very rarely do things ever go back to how they used to go. She suspected that had happened with Ron – the outcome of the battle had gone to his head a bit and now he was just far too cocky and self-obsessed for Hermione to be able to handle on a day to day basis. She shrugged to herself. Oh well, these things happen.

Her interior monologue was interrupted by a voice from behind her which made her nearly jump out of her skin,  
"Whatcha, Granger," Malfoy grinned as she glared at him. She noticed that whilst he hadn't changed out of his uniform, like her, he'd at least changed a little – his top button was undone showing the creamy pale skin of his neck – a neck which she found herself strangely attracted to – and his tie was loosened so that he might as well not be wearing it. His hair was tousled as if he'd been running to get there, and Hermione had to admit that overall, he looked very attractive. So the sharp intake of breath she took might have been shock, or it might have been a combination of something else entirely – she wasn't quite sure.

"Don't sneak up on me, like that!" She exclaimed, finally finding her voice.

"Or what are you going to do, Granger?" Malfoy taunted, smirking as she stood up off the rock she'd been perched on, picking up the broomstick. She paused in thought, and then with the handle of the borrowed broomstick leant over and smacked Malfoy's arse with it. His mouth opened in a perfect "o", and the look of surprise on his face made Hermione chuckle.

"I honestly cannot believe that you just did that, Hermione," Malfoy said, as he pretended to nurse his sore patch, "Care to kiss it better for me?" He grinned cheekily, as a small flicker of something fled Hermione's face and she resumed her composure.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," She jibed, and he pulled a sad puppy dog face, making her laugh again.

"Yeah, in my dreams Granger," Malfoy said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You ready for this, then? We best go before it gets dark," he added, looking at the sky. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Where are we going?" She asked, curiously, and Malfoy tapped his nose.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," he grinned, "C'mon, hop on your broom and follow me – you'll find out soon enough."

He jumped onto his broom, hovering a metre or so off the ground. "What are you waiting for, Granger?" he asked her cheekily, taking one look at her reserved face.

"We're not flying over _the lake_, are we, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, a twinge of concern that could be interpreted as fear in her voice

"Erm... yeah... well we can't get there any other way," Malfoy admitted, sheepishly, "Sorry. You're just so good at this flying thing I forgot you only just learnt," he smirked, and Hermione giggled, "C'mon Granger, follow my lead ad you'll be fine."  
Hermione nodded resolutely. "Fine, but if I die... you'll pay!"

Malfoy chuckled. "And how exactly do you intend to make me pay if you're dead?"

Hermione cocked her head in thought as she mounted her broom, "I'll come back and haunt you," she grinned triumphantly.

Malfoy shivered, "Heaven forbid, Granger... now there's a scary thought," he laughed, and so did she, her brown hair cascading down her back in wild curls, and the setting sun glinting off her golden necklace. If Malfoy had been looking at her, instead of ahead as they flew, he might well have fallen off his broom and into the murky depths of the Black Lake.

"Where are we going?" Hermione called to Malfoy, from where she flew behind him smoothly, over the relatively still but dark water of the lake.

He turned and winked at her, his eyes glittering silver in the sunlight, "Well wouldn't you like to know..." he grinned, "Let's just say you'll find out soon enough."

Malfoy turned right and soared over the peak of one of the hills that surrounded Hogwarts; shrouding it from view. A clump of trees below them protruded from the hill top, and Malfoy sped forwards, Hermione not far behind him. In a graceful arc shape, Malfoy began to descend. He came to rest in a little nook in the hill; it was a natural excavation but the view was simply breath-taking; overlooking the castle and the great lake, sunlight refracting off the water like a million diamonds. A small stream trickled into the lake from a groove in the hill; and wild flowers grew either side of the running water; red and white, the colours of purity and blood, interwoven like some beautiful metaphor for something which Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on it. She stood in amazement, taking in her surroundings in utter admiration, before she was able to utter a word.

"It's _beautiful,"_ she finally exclaimed, picking a white broken flower up and twirling it between her fingertips. Her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks as the sun cast a warm glow on the duo; and even Malfoy's cold exterior seem softened somewhat.

"I'm glad you think so," Malfoy smiled as he regarded the girl in front of him. "I've never shown anyone this before... it's my own private thinking spot, you see," he explained, and Hermione looked slightly bemused.

"Why did you show it to me, then, if it's private?" She asked, curious.

He shrugged. "You know me better than anyone, 'Mione," he admitted, "I figured that if I love it here then maybe you would too."  
"Thank you," she said, her voice brimming with sincerity.

"There's not much to thank me for," Malfoy pointed out. "I didn't make this place; I only found it."

"No," she interrupted, "Thank you for showing me. For letting me see a part of you that no one else has," Her words spoke volumes, and Malfoy inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"No, Hermione. Thanks for being worthy."

She smiled a small smile, a blush colouring her cheeks and perfecting the scene. Malfoy forgot to breathe and he felt like he could be stuck in that moment for eternity and never get bored. She was perfect; amazing; beautiful, Malfoy thought, as she gazed out at the magnificent castle in front of them. But she had no idea, he mused, which just added to her redeeming qualities. Hermione Granger, was, he thought, completely innocent – less so than himself in some respects; but nevertheless she was pure, innocent and completely beautiful, and he found himself wanting to treasure her and protect that innocence. He'd never felt that way about anyone – and it scared him. Could he...? No. Malfoy's didn't love anyone but themselves, he told himself firmly. But one last glance at Hermione through that thought out of the window. There's an exception to every rule, he thought.


	26. Revelations and the Realm of Dreams

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Revelations & the Realm of Dreams**

Draco Malfoy woke early the next morning; sunlight streaming in through the artificial windows - really Granger and himself were enclosed in on all sides by the room of requirement's walls - because he'd forgotten to close the drapes after falling into a deep but fitful slumber. He sighed, as he propped himself up with his elbows and acknowledged the time. Great, he thought. Awake two hours before I need to be. But instead of turning over and getting a few extra hours of sleep, Malfoy sluggishly dragged himself from his bed – the only time the Slytherin Prince looked anything less than his usual pristine self was when he'd been making out with a girl, or had just woken up. In this instance, it was the latter. It may have been the first scenario; if it wasn't for the fact that Draco Malfoy hadn't wanted to kiss anyone lately. Well, strictly speaking, that wasn't exactly true.

There _was_ one girl that Draco Malfoy wanted to kiss; but he knew that if he did so, that would be a sure fire way to earn him a one way return ticket to "no friend land", and he didn't want to risk losing what he'd worked so hard to build up with Hermione, after so many years of hatred between them. She'd destroyed his entire moral compass by her sheer existence. Perhaps he may have carried on believing all Muggle-borns were inferior to Purebloods like himself for the duration of his life... but with his father gone, no longer clouding his judgement, Draco Malfoy realised that Granger; the smartest, cleverest, and wittiest (beside himself) person he knew completely defied these principles, so he dismissed them immediately. She'd made him think about the kind of person he became after the aftermath of the Final Battle; she'd shaped who he was, he realised. She was amazing, he thought, but there was no way in hell she'd go for someone like me, he regretted.

In fact, one of the main reason Draco Malfoy didn't like Harry Potter all too much – apart from his sheer existence, that is – was that all those years he'd had Hermione right in front of him, and as far as he knew, he'd never acted on it. Then there was Weasley; brash, irrational and altogether too stupid for a woman like Hermione. Whilst some women may be happy to take on the role of homemaker, whilst the Weasley men were Breadwinners; Malfoy knew for certain that this was never a role which Hermione could comply with. Her mere academic prowess showed that she was destined for great things – things which he, along with Hermione herself, knew she could not achieve were she tied to Ronald Weasley by something as potent as marriage. He shuddered. The thought of Hermione married to anyone other than him disgusted him. Malfoy breathed in sharply; and in that moment he realised he was completely and irrevocably in love – to paraphrase a certain Muggle writer, Stephanie Meyer, who he'd come to despise over the summer – with Hermione Granger.

Ever since he was a young boy, his mother had fantasized about the day he'd get married; it would be a huge social occasion, and all the famous wizards and witches would be invited. The Malfoy Manor would be transformed; decadent with green velvet and satin, with white roses growing up the balconies and stairwells with viny tendrils. He'd dismissed the mere thought of marriage – always assuming that he'd get married to someone as insufferable or whiney as Pansy Parkinson – but now his mother's vision suddenly became clear. The ceremony would be held out in the gardens; the marble fountain spewing enchanted golden water in the background, and white painted metal garden chairs would add authenticity. More roses would frame the aisle; a twisting arc of beauty and pains symbolising the very nature of his relationship with his bride.

She would wear the Malfoy family gown; a white bodice that flowed, accentuating her newly acquired curves; strapless and framed with everlasting lilies, with a golden hem stitched by fairies, now extinct. A lace veil would flow from his mother's old tiara; silver with emerald gem set in an intricate pattern... he scratched that bit; he wasn't sure how his bride would feel about wearing his mother's jewellery. She'd probably opt for a simpler option – something from her own mother; a plain tiara with a red ruby twined with an emerald. He grinned – much more symbolic; the lion and the serpent, wrought in gold. Yes, that was right he thought, and he pictured Granger's delicate features under the veil; her big brown eyes framed with sooty lashes. With her cute nose and her pale complexion from spending so much time inside reading. She'd be perfect, he thought to himself, as he let the warm water from the shower cascade over him, taking his thoughts with it down the plughole. As he stepped out the shower, the water droplets clinging to his skin turned cold and he shivered, as an unpleasant thought hit him.

He'd made a bet with Peeves that he could get Granger to fall in love with him. That would've been fine, had he not developed these rather serious feelings for the Gryffindor witch. Heck, he'd just been thinking about getting married to her! This complicated matters. What if he did succeed at getting her to fall for him? Then what? Would he tell her about the bet? Or risk her finding out from Peeves – jeopardising their entire relationship? He groaned as he cast a drying spell, and ran some gel through his hair, shaking it into a mussed up mop that he'd taken to wearing upon Hermione telling him she preferred it that way. What was to say she'd even fall for him, anyway? He set off on a walk around the castle grounds before breakfast in an attempt to clear his head, drawing his robes tighter around him as the cold morning air bit at his skin.

In her bed, Hermione turned, smiling into her pillow as a familiar blonde entered into her dream. It was around the time the Triwizard tournament took place; she noted, as she took in the presence of the Beauxbaton students as well as the broody Durmstrang lot. Victor Krum was following her around a lot in the dream, but Hermione paid him no notice. Instead, wherever she went in the castle; her eyes always seemed to follow the same mysterious blonde. Now and again, their eyes would meet and it would be as if both of them had a secret that nobody else knew but each other. They'd smile secretly at each other, and then go on with their daily routine. She tossed fitfully in her sleep, as her dream version of herself sobbed to herself over a spat with Ronald. But a sighting of the blonde Slytherin cheered her up, and the Yule ball came to pass.

Hermione slept deeply, but carried on dreaming. She descended down the steps leading to the Great Hall, careful not to trip in the heels which she wasn't accustomed to wearing. A pale hand enclosed hers in his, and a cheeky grin met her nervous smile, as they made their way into the hall. Gasps and murmurs surrounded the couple whenever they passed someone new. Surely Hermione Granger wasn't wearing _makeup_? And why was she with _Draco Malfoy?_ The couple ignored the whisperings and carried on dancing, oblivious, their footsteps melding into one path, as they glided across the dance floor. She woke up, as her alarm sounded, and rubbing her eyes she sat upright. Wow, she thought, that dream had been surprisingly realistic. She could still feel Malfoy's hand resting on her waist, and her heart did a little flutter. She stretched to wake herself up; she honestly must be going mad if she was thinking about Draco Malfoy in that way. She laughed lightly to herself, as she dressed herself and gathered her books in her worn satchel, just in time to make it to breakfast.

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy sat grumpily shoving a slice of toast into a boiled egg, so that the yellowy yolk had spilt all over his plate. Blaise was talking to him and he nodded every now and then, but the Italian boy could tell he wasn't really being attentive.  
"What's got your knickers in a twist, this morning, Malfoy?" Blaise snapped, as he followed Malfoy's line of sight to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was sat, looking bored as Ron continued to ignore her, and Harry talked to the former about Quidditch. Blaise did a double take. He must have missed a few chapters – when the hell did Malfoy care about anything to do with Granger? "Granger?" Blaise said, not really a question, more surprised.

Malfoy looked defensive, "What about her, Zabini?" He growled, from the back of his throat, and the boy raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I didn't say anything about her!" The Italian exclaimed, a smile now spreading across his face as he interpreted the situation. "What's she done?" He asked, curious.

"Nothing," Malfoy spat, "She's not done anything."

"Well then why are you so hot and bothered?" Blaise probed.

No answer. The silence grew between the two Slytherins until you could've cut the tension in the room with a knife. A realisation began to grow on Blaise, and had Malfoy not been staring at a certain Gryffindor; jealous of the time Weasley and Potter spent with her without really appreciating it, he'd have noticed the devious glint in his friend's eye as a certain truth hit him.

"Aww Malfoy fancies Granger? How cute," Blaise teased, "Let me be Godfather, man, I promise I won't teach them any dark arts before they're five," he grinned. "When's the wedding?"

"I do NOT fancy Granger!" exclaimed Malfoy loudly. A few First year Slytherins looked up at him nervously; the first time they'd seen the Slytherin king lose his cool. "Just shut up will you, Zabini!"

"Calm down man, I'm only messing," Blaise chuckled as he helped himself to some grapefruit, whilst Malfoy seethed. A few moments of silence passed. "She is pretty hot," Zabini added, trying to be helpful.

From up at the teacher's table, McGonagall watched the exchange curiously. Could Professor Snape be right? Could a little incentive be what Malfoy needed to get a move on? She certainly hoped so.

Malfoy glared at Zabini. "C'mon man, surely you must have noticed those curves of hers?" Zabini pried.

"Not looked," Malfoy muttered, swigging his coffee.

"See she's got her teeth sorted out too."

"Mhmm." Malfoy mumbled, trying to act nonchalant whilst his finger fumbling with an orange peel.

"So you're alright with me asking her out on a date, then?" Zabini asked slyly.

Malfoy's reaction was not dissimilar to that of a firework on Bonfire night. "DON'T YOU DARE DO THAT BLAISE ZABINI – OR I'LL HEX YOUR BALLS OFF! DON'T TOUCH GRANGER, YOU HEAR ME?"

Zabini chuckled, "I heard you alright, man, and I think half the Great Hall did, too!"

Malfoy looked around, alarmed. Nearly all the Slytherin table was eyeing him with distaste. A few Ravenclaws were looking at him curiously, and a few of the Gryffindors were looking around to find out what the commotion was. Up at the teacher's table, McGonagall was suppressing a grin, and Viktor Krum was grinning into his cereal. His eyes locked onto a certain brunette, who didn't appear to have heard his display, a few minutes previous; her eyes locked onto the book in front of her.

With a look of shame at Zabini, after he realised he'd been tricked into admitting his feelings for Granger, Malfoy swept out of the great hall; throwing his dragon skin satchel over his shoulder.

The second Draco Malfoy left the hall, Hermione Granger breathed again. She may have pretended to have not heard the outburst from over at the Slytherin table, but actually, she had heard every word. What did he mean? What had Blaise threatened to do –why was Malfoy so angsty about Blaise going near her? Merlin, she thought, he wasn't staking his claim over her, was he? Did Draco Malfoy _like_ her? She laughed to herself, as she made her way to her lessons, oblivious to the looks people threw her way and the murmurs that were exchanged from girl to girl, and even amongst some boys.

"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are spending a lot of time together, don't you think?" "I hear he proposed to her and she's having his baby – that's why they're sharing a dorm," swore one student. "Didn't you hear him shout at Zabini that she belonged to him? I hear he's threatened to kill Zabini if he so much as looks at her," were amongst the rumours that were flying back and forth down the Hogwarts corridors. Of course, Hermione too caught up in her studies for her NEWTs didn't so much as notice them; but Malfoy certainly heard them.

Sighing, he settled into a much needed sleep at the end of a long and tedious day. He put all thoughts of Hermione Granger and Zabini out of his head in an attempt to sink into the realm of dreams. When he finally arrived there, he wished he could escape.

_ Bellatrix Lestrange had an unmistakable laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made newborn babies cry; their little innocent faces shrink up in terror. It was the kind of cackle that you hear from a Pantomime witch; only injected with much more malice and evil. Draco Malfoy had come to recognise this laugh from a very early age – his aunt had often visited the house when he was younger; knocking over his games and sending tendrils of smoke to strangle him as he slept for his afternoon nap; just to show him who was boss. She was a scary woman; her tendrils of black hair writhing as if they were alive, and her skin gaunt and ghostlike. Her sunken eyes bore into him at many a dinner party – making him feel more than just uncomfortable; as if his skin was burning. He didn't like his Aunt Bella at all; but he had to put up with her because you can't choose your family._

_ As Draco Malfoy dreamt, his dream was thick with her cackling laughter; as it felt like a vice around his neck, strangling him. Again and again he heard the words "blood traitor" and "Mudblood" as he watched as his aunt jabbed the necks of muggles and purebloods he wasn't acquainted with, with her trademark dagger. Crimson blood bubbled out of their necks, and they slumped in crimson pools as they drowned in their own life force. She danced manically around the bodies; piling them higher and higher, stepping on the corpses as if they were an obstruction in some kind of twisted dance. Faster and faster she cackled; getting more manic as another throat was split. He recognised Teddy Lupin from a photograph Hermione had shown him, and he watched with horror as Bellatrix slashed the little boy's face from top to bottom, before carving out his heart, clutching it, blood oozing down her arm, as her black eyes glittered and her tongue darted out, like a snake, catching some of the blood on her tongue, Teddy's tattered corpse lying in a pool of blood just like the others._

Malfoy screamed, and he woke up with a jolt. His sheets were clammy; sticking to his pale skin with sweat, and he wiped his brow as he sat there, breathing heavily as his fluttering pulse calmed. This wasn't the first dream like this he'd had – but it was the first he'd had since his return to Hogwarts.

His bedroom door burst open. "Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, forgetting that she wasn't wearing anything other than one of Ron's old Chudley Cannons t-shirts, "What's wrong?"

When his breathing calmed enough for him to be able to sleep, Malfoy divulged the events of his dream to Hermione, and he winced as she brought a hand up to stroke her own scar that his Aunt had inflicted. Normally those kinds of wounds faded when the creator died; but perhaps Bellatrix had cut Hermione particularly deep, he thought. He gave her an apologetic look, and Hermione shook her head. It wasn't Malfoy's fault that his Aunt was a maniac. After all; you can't choose your family.

"Malfoy you can't go on having dreams like this!" She exclaimed, upon hearing that it was not the first time he had had a dream of a similar nature to the one he'd just had. "They could mean something! Harry had dreams all the time, when Yo-" she corrected herself, "When Voldemort was alive." Malfoy winced at the name, but she continued. "It could be important – you need to see McGonagall about it," she urged.

Malfoy shook his head; her eyes full of desperation. "No Hermione, please, I don't want to see her. She'll think I'm weak!" He exclaimed, his voice full of desperation, pleading even. "Please, Hermione," his voice softened. "I don't want to. At least not yet." Hermione paused in thought for a few minutes.

"Fine," she agreed, "I won't make you see her, or go to her myself, just yet. But if they get worse then you _need _to tell her. What if it's something important – like she's trying to contact you from the dead?" Hermione's tone sounded fearful, and Malfoy realised that maybe the scar on her forearm spoke volumes more than he originally thought.

He conceded. "Fine, you have my word that if the dreams get any worse, I'll go to McGonagall."

Hermione smiled, and so did he, forgetting the rumours of the day before. "Good. If you want I have some Dreamless sleep potion – maybe that will help?" She proffered. He nodded. She dashed out the room, her slender legs drawing Malfoy's eyes to them in the sparse moonlight. A ripple of something unfamiliar passed through Malfoy's body. He shuddered; but not in a bad way. When she returned, her hair was mussed up, and her t-shirt had ridden up a bit over her boy shorts.

Malfoy was thankful for the moonlight, as it covered up his blush, as he took the potion Hermione gave him. Hermione silently thanked Merlin too, that it was a cloudy night and therefore not too light, as she was sure he cheeks were positively crimson from taking in Malfoy's shirtless, lean form. All those years of Quidditch had certainly paid off, she thought, blushing right to her roots. Ah, hormones, she cursed. A silence grew between the pair as Malfoy handed back the potion.

"Thanks," Malfoy said sincerely.

"You're welcome," smiled Hermione. She got up from where she'd somehow sat on his bed - she hadn't noticed that – and made her way to the door. "G'night, Draco," she smiled fondly as she looked down at the blonde boy; his hair almost silver in the moonlight. He looked somewhat bemused from where he sat between two cushions, one green, one silver.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes in the semi-darkness. "Stay," he said softly.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked, thinking she must have misheard him.

"Stay with me, please?" He asked; a hint of desperation and fear in his voice.

Her bare feet hesitated on the threshold of his room; from where she had been about to leave. He patted the double bed next to him; there was ample space next to him, and besides, she wasn't sure she'd be able to get to sleep much, now that he'd brought memories of that day at The Manor to the forefront of her mind. She cautiously made her way to his bed, and sat down. He looked across at her, eyes full of gratitude, and took her hand in his. She relaxed as their fingers interlaced; and it was as if a spell had been cast to calm her. He pulled her to him in a hug, but instead of pulling away, Hermione remained there, her head against his chest, one hand interlaced with hers and the other resting on the small of her back. They stayed like that; listening to each other's breathing, until they drifted off into a deep and peaceful slumber, free from nightmares... free from worry...


	27. In Deeper Than I Bargained For

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: In Deeper than I Bargained For**

The next morning, Hermione woke, her head resting against the chest of someone lean and muscular. She nuzzled her head deeper into them, her hair splaying out in every angle; framing her face, and she remained there for a few minutes, without really giving a second thought to the Slytherin boy she was cuddling up to.

Her movements had woken Malfoy, who had looked down immediately at the girl in his arms. He could barely suppress his grin – Hermione Granger had fallen asleep in Draco Malfoy's bed – but he groaned inwardly as he envisaged how awkward it would be when she finally realised where she was. Last night had been weird, he thought to himself. He'd never had a scarier dream; Bellatrix had truly terrified him, he thought, as he shivered. Hermione's dreamless sleep potion had done the trick though; he'd fallen asleep straight away after she'd given it him – and with her lying in his arms, he might say it was the best night's sleep he'd ever had. He smiled, and at this moment, Hermione looked up at the grinning blonde.

"What you smiling about, Malfoy?" Hermione asked sleepily, and Malfoy chuckled.

"Nothing, darling, go back to sleep," he smiled.

"OK..." Hermione's eyes fluttered shut again, but then snapped open two minutes later. "Wait what? Why am I in your bed..." she asked, trailing off as she recalled the events of last night, "Why did you just call me darling?" Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Why not? You look cute in the morning," he smirked and Hermione rolled herself off his chest, propping herself up on one of the Slytherin green pillows with one arm. Malfoy's eyes widened when he saw just how much her shirt had ridden up in the night.

"Where's Draco Malfoy and what have you done with him?" Hermione asked, grinning.

"I kidnapped him and replaced him with the new edition, with a new charming feature," Malfoy retorted, grinning wickedly. He pulled himself off the bed, and once again Hermione couldn't help but notice that he had a _very_ nice chest. She imagined sliding her hands up it – and then stopped herself immediately. Heck, this was _Malfoy_ she was thinking about, here.

"It seems to be faulty, maybe you should get a refund," Hermione jibed, and Malfoy clutched his chest pretending she'd mortally wounded him.

"Ouch Granger, that hurts," he said, still grinning. "I'm dying," he exclaimed, as he rubbed his chest.

"Mhmm looks like it," she smirked, walking over to where he was stood, "Let me have a look, I could always kiss it better," she said, her bravery surpassing her own expectations this morning. Maybe the fumes from the potion last had gone to her head, she reasoned.  
She put her hand on Malfoy's chest, and nearly pulled it away immediately when a spark jumped between her fingers and his skin. Instead of his skin feeling cold and icy like she might've expected it to; Malfoy's skin was smooth but warm to the touch, and she kind of liked it. She stroked it hesitantly. "Can't see anything," she joked, "Must've all been in your head," she explained.

Malfoy chuckled, "Thanks for clarifying that, nurse Granger," he smirked, "Any excuse to touch me, eh?" Hermione tried a look of scorn, but she thought it probably looked more sheepish than anything.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," she jibed, and before she could back away, he took both her hands in his.

"Ah but if I'd been dreaming of you last night, Granger, instead of my delightful deceased Aunt, you wouldn't have ended up in my bed, would you?"

"I only stayed because you asked me to..." she trailed off, blushing slightly.

"So if I asked you to make hot passionate love to me right now, you would?" Asked Malfoy, pointedly, a smile on his face.  
"No-" Hermione began, in a hurry, but Malfoy cut her off by putting a finger over her lips.

"Shame," he grinned cheekily. "I reckon we could have some pretty hot sex, you and I."

If Hermione wasn't already crimson in colour; she was now. But before she could muster a witty retort, Malfoy was out the door and had locked the bathroom door. "Better get ready Granger, we've got a busy day today, working on our Guidance and Counselling assignment," he called through the wood. "I believe it's my turn today? What've you got planned?"

"Yes," Hermione called, having regained her composure. "But we're not going far today, we're staying in the castle," she explained. "Meet me in the Great Hall when you're ready," she said, "I'm going to go and get ready in the Eighth year Common Room – I've not seen some of my friends in a while," she added, more for her own benefit than Malfoy's, who probably couldn't hear her from the jet of water pouring from the shower at this moment in time.

"See you in a bit, Hermione," Malfoy called, and Hermione realised with a smile that he now regularly called her by her first name. They only called each other Granger and Malfoy when they were arguing or "debating"; just the same as they'd always done. She was smiling when she walked towards the Great Hall, half an hour later, wearing a pair of drainpipe black jeans and a burgundy jumper with an ornate necklace some far off cousin had given her.

Saturday's were always her favourite days; usually they meant spending hours in the library poring over new books, and archives of new knowledge, but today she would be helping Malfoy overcome his fear of death. She was so caught up in her daydream that she didn't notice when she collided with a dark skinned Slytherin. Instead of the usual "watch where you're going Mudblood," that she would've been accustomed to receiving; a grinning Blaise Zabini picked himself off the floor and gave Hermione a hand.

"Hiya Hermione. I was just on my way to sort out some of those boxes for Professor Babbling, d'you want to come?" He asked, his tone surprisingly warm for a Slytherin.

"Sorry, Blaise," she started apologetically, "But I'm on my way to breakfast and then Draco and I are going to work on another assignment for Professor Duxhominem," she explained.

"No worries," he grinned, "Seems like Draco's gotten in there first." Hermione raised an eyebrow – forgetting that Draco and Blaise didn't know that she knew about their escapade at dinner yesterday – and Blaise went on to explain hurriedly, "Because err I err could erm really do with your erm help," he managed feebly. "Bye! Gotta sprint!" He explained, before dashing off down the corridor. He called back over his shoulder, "Tell Draco to come talk to me later, Hermione, when you're done whatever it is you two have planned?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione nodded, and called after him, "No problem Zabini," chuckling at his haste to get away from her. Maybe Malfoy _did _like her – I mean he'd seemed awfully keen for her to be near him last night, and this morning too. Oh well, that didn't stop the two of them being friends, right?

Malfoy came into the Great Hall halfway through Hermione's breakfast, and she threw him an apologetic smile when she saw him sat alone. She was in between Ginny and Harry who only had eyes for each other; and was feeling somewhat of a third wheel. Her eyebrows nearly shot off her face when she saw Malfoy gesture to the seat next to him. When she didn't move, he did it again. Did he really want her, a Gryffindor, to get up and go and sit with him on the Slytherin table? Was he _mad_? She wondered, but with a last desperate look at Harry and Ginny, who didn't even notice she was there, she gathered her things, marched over to the Slytherin table, and sat down before she could regret her decision.

"Morning Granger," Malfoy drawled, "I have to say I didn't think you had the guts to come over here," he admitted, and Hermione scoffed.

"I _am _a Gryffindor, Malfoy," she pointed out, "We're much braver than your Slytherin lot," she jibed, and Malfoy chuckled.

"Touché," he smirked. "Everyone is staring at us, you know," he pointed out. Hermione looked around, and saw that he was right; pretty much every student in the hall had their eyes trained on them. With a look up at the Head's table, Hermione saw a smiling McGonagall – a rare sight indeed – trying to hide her grin with a mouthful of porridge - as well as a few bemused teachers. After all, maybe this was the first time in history a Gryffindor had sat at the Slytherin table, Hermione thought. What had she done? She smirked.

"You mean like how everyone stared at you after your little row with Zabini, yesterday?" Hermione simmered sweetly. Malfoy choked on his pumpkin juice violently, then desperately tried to compose himself.

"You _heard_ that?" He exclaimed, and Hermione nodded, giggling. "Fuck," Malfoy exclaimed, not caring about his language, "All of it?"

She nodded again, trying not to laugh. He sure was defensive about it – maybe her suspicions were right, and Malfoy _did_ have a little bit of a thing for her! For some reason, Hermione Granger had a sudden desire to punch the air like they do in really cheesy films. She shook the desire off. "Yes, I heard every word of it," she grinned. Malfoy's eyes widened.

"What I meant by it, well, Blaise was talking about erm, taking advantage of you, erm you see," stammered Malfoy, embarrassed, "and well I just erm didn't want him to erm try anything with you, you see, because erm no one is meant to be in our dorm apart from us," he tried to cover up, "and yeah..." he trailed off when he saw the look Hermione was giving him. He thought to himself that was really the most pathetic excuse a conniving Slytherin such as himself had ever come up with.

She very much looked like she was going to burst out laughing at any second; her eyes brimming with tears of mirth. "Sure you were, Malfoy," she giggled, "After all I'd look out for you if Ginny tried to make a move on you," she now burst out laughing, and Malfoy scowled. "I couldn't protect myself from Zabini's advances, why thank you my Knight in shining armour," Hermione joked.

"I'm serious!" He exclaimed, "I was just looking out for you, I swear. I didn't mean you were mine or anything like that," he stated.

Hermione stopped laughing. "I never said you did, don't worry your pretty little cotton socks about it," she smiled. "Besides, don't make the same mistakes as Ronald Weasley," she warned. "I'm not anybody's possession."

"Oh I know," Malfoy agreed, "Don't you worry. Besides, Weasley is a twat," he added. Hermione slapped his arm with her napkin, McGonagall watching the display curiously from the Teacher's table.

A few minutes later, Hermione added, "I know he is. Are you done? We've got a long day ahead of us." Malfoy nodded, pushing his cleared plate away.

"Oh and Malfoy?" Hermione asked, as they left the Great Hall, side by side.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"Blaise told me to tell you to go find him, after our assignment's done," she said.

"When did you see Zabini?" Asked Malfoy, on edge.

Hermione grinned wickedly, "Oh did I not tell you? He took advantage of me and we had hot sex in a cupboard before I met you in the Great Hall," she cackled, the look on Malfoy's face positively thunderous.

"Don't you dare say something like that again, Hermione," Malfoy warned her, and Hermione continued to chuckle. "I mean the mere idea of you and Zabini... eucchhh." He said.

"There there, Malfoy," Hermione jibed. "If you're feeling left out, you need only say; I'm sure you can join in with Zabini and me." With that, Hermione collapsed in fits of laughter on the floor, chuckling in absolute peals of mirth.

"I think Zabini's been a bad influence on you already, Granger," Malfoy said, "I think we're going to have to spend today fixing your moral compass after Zabini's interfered with the signal," he grimaced. "Besides, what are we even meant to be doing today?" he asked, his voice piqued with curiosity.

"Wait and see, Malfoy, wait and see," said Hermione, teasing, as she picked herself off the floor from where she'd collapsed, laughing, moments before. "Follow me," she said as she weaved her way through the many corridors and floors of Hogwarts.

Malfoy followed in her wake, utterly at a loss with this girl before him that was Hermione Granger. Fuck, he thought to himself. He was in deeper than he'd bargained for.


	28. Bubble, Bubble, Emotions, Bubble

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Twenty Eight: Bubble, Bubble, Emotions, Bubble**

"C'mon Hermione," Malfoy whined as he levelled his pace with Hermione, clutching at her robe in an attempt to get her to slow down and talk to him. "Where are we actually going? We're staying in the castle, right?" He asked, and Hermione just chuckled.

"Honestly, Draco, you Slytherin men have to be the most impatient men known to walk to the earth! Can't you wait _five_ minutes to find out? After all, I don't want to ruin the surprise!" Hermione tucked a curl behind her hair, and batted Malfoy's hand off her robe.

"Hmph you Gryffindor girls are _sooo_ annoying," Malfoy whined, his face creasing with confusion as he rounded the corner and found Hermione had brought himself to the Dungeons – "What are we doing here, 'Mione?" He asked. He didn't notice the way Hermione looked at him when he addressed her with the nickname usually adorned to her by the Weasley boys; but she answered his question nonetheless.

"Like I said, Malfoy, just wait and see. Thank God I'm not married to you, I don't think I'd be able to put up with your lack of ability to wait!"

"Nah you're just saying that Granger," Malfoy quipped, "You and I both know that you'd love to marry me; just think all of this," he gestured to his lean physique, "It could be yours to make hot passionate love to whenever you wanted…" His hand moved up to her face, a finger trailing teasingly down the creamy skin of her cheek, and gently brushing her lip before he pulled away.

He didn't notice the effect this gesture had on Hermione; the way in which she sharply breathed in and held it until he pulled his touch away, or the way her heart fluttered in her chest at the contact of his hand against her skin. But what he did notice was the warmth his fingers felt as they'd glided over the smooth skin of the girl in front of him. And the sudden lurching he felt inside his stomach – what was it that that muggle writer had described it as? He racked his brains to remember… Dragonflies? No, he remembered, that was it! Butterflies! He had butterflies in his stomach – he smirked at the mere idea, warmth coursing through him.

"Well, well, well," a hearty voice boomed behind them, "Have my eyes and ears deceived me or are there really a Gryffindor and a Slytherin canoodling in the corridor in front of me?" chuckled the Bloody Baron, as he drifted down to the same level as the two students.  
A rosy blush tinted Hermione's face; the colour flooding immediately and creating the illusion of guilt at being caught in such a compromising position; and by the Slytherin house ghost at that!

"But we aren't… that is to say… well," Hermione spluttered in indignation, struggling in her attempts to form a coherent sentence.

"What the delightful Miss Granger here is trying to say, Baron," Malfoy began, seeming less flustered than his Gryffindor companion, "Is that we are in no shape or form in a relationship of any sorts."

"Really?" The baron exclaimed, his powdered wig jostling as the exclamation caused him to shoot upwards, "I do beg your pardon, Miss Granger," he said, as he performed an intricate bow, "But I was under the illusion that you were; what with all the rumours flying around the castle at the moment… Not to mention the gibberish Peeves has been spouting lately about a bet Mr Malfoy has with him…"

The Baron trailed off and he saw the look of fury Malfoy was shooting in his direction; if looks could kill, and the Baron wasn't already dead… well…

"Rumours?" Hermione asked, genuinely confused. She'd had her head buried in one of her trusty books for the past few days that the whisperings of the other Hogwarts students had passed her by.

"Yes, my dear girl… why I heard a rather funny one the other day," the Baron chuckled, creasing over with mirth as he struggled to deliver his next sentence. "Why I do believe it was the Hufflepuff third years I overheard saying that Mr Malfoy was a vela and he'd chosen you to mate with, and that you were bound to him by an unbreakable curse… why mere moments before I came here I heard Miss Pansy Parkinson telling everyone that you were pregnant with Mr Malfoy's third child out of wedlock, now," he laughed merrily as Hermione's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

Were these rumours about her _really _travelling around the school? Had they reached her friends in Gryffindor, yet? Goodness, she thought – what would they think if they had? They'd certainly succeed in pissing Ron off some more, she mused, a small smirk coming to the corner of her mouth.

"Really? Wow I have to say," Hermione began, "I'd have never have though that the student body of Hogwarts could be _quite_ so creative! But you would be correct in presuming that that is what this talk is – rumours – I haven't, nor do I intend to, have Malfoy's third child out of wedlock… nor any of his children, for that matter," she added hastily, trying to push the image of herself pregnant, holding the hand of a grey eyed toddler with startlingly familiar blonde-white hair. Anyone would've thought that she was madly in love with Malfoy; what with her dreaming about attending a ball with him, and now here she was fantasizing about bearing his children. Preposterous. Right?

"She's right you know," Malfoy added, along he tried to keep the degree of hurt out of his voice at the thought that Hermione wouldn't want to have his children. Particularly seeing as he'd been mentally ticking off reasons why she couldn't marry his fellow students at lunch, yesterday…

"Ahh well that's good – I may be a Slytherin, but I've never been one for the promiscuity that goes on within this castle walls," the ghost admitted, "But I do believe Miss Granger you called me here to talk about something other than the love life of two of Hogwarts's most accredited students?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, thankful for the conversation change, "I was hoping you could help Draco and myself with an assignment?"

"Certainly Miss Granger, anything I can do to assist you in your school work, I would be more than happy to do, how can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you could help me in my efforts to help Draco here of his fear of death?"

"Ahh, very wise Miss Granger; the other ghosts are right when they say you're incredibly bright – who better to help the living conquer their fear of death than those who have already experienced it? I would be delighted. Will you be staying with us?" He asked, impressed at the boldness of the Gryffindor witch, in asking a Slytherin – the _enemy_ as they were still referred to – for help.

"If that's alright; then yes, please. I kind of need to monitor Malfoy's progress – and it probably wouldn't do me any harm to hear whatever it is you have to say, too," She admitted.

"Very well. There's a window seat over there," he said gesturing to the cold marble window ledge, "After all I still remember the feeling that one experienced when you'd been standing up for too long," he explained. Nodding, Hermione and Malfoy made their way over to the window, sitting down with their legs up; their bodies at close proximity as they sat opposite one another. The Baron puzzled himself at their closeness - he thought they had said nothing was going on between them? In all his years of being a ghost, he hadn't seen two students of opposing houses getting on as well as the two in front of him were.

Clearing his mind, he began talking to the duo in front of him. "Death is a loyal suitor, patiently waiting to embrace us all. The question we should ask ourselves – it isn't "is there life after death?" – But instead it is "Are we alive before death?" Have you lived your life to the full; lived every day as it is your last day?"

The Baron cleared his throat before continuing. "Death is painless; hopefully… death is patient – he usually waits many years before taking us from our friends and families. Death is simply the unknown. That's why many fear death. Nobody knows exactly what happens afterwards; even those who have – such as the ghosts you see hear at Hogwarts - are still at a loss of how to understand it. It seems scary, doesn't it; to wake up one day and solid objects can pass through you whilst merely experiencing a cold sensation? It's as strange to me as it is to you… the thing is that Death isn't as weird as any of this world is," the ghost explained. "I'm sure you can vouch for me, Miss Granger, here… think about how strange, how curious, how unnatural you found it when you first encountered magic. The reality is death isn't anything different to that scenario – it merely takes a while to become accustomed to, that's all."

Hermione nodded in agreement; the first time she'd succeeded in creating magic for herself – back in first year when she'd set about learning spells before even her first lesson – she had been shocked, so much so that she'd sat in silence for a good hour or so, puzzling over life and it's complexities.

"People are afraid of death because it is something which they cannot control. Because it's unknown, and yet some part of them knows they're going to lose their attachments. People fear death because it's inevitable – no one can life forever; not even Nicholas Flamel, late friend of Albus Dumbledore."

Malfoy looked up from where he'd been wringing his hands. That was true, death happened to everyone at some point in time – why was he so afraid of something so certain? It wasn't half as unknown – an empty void – as he had once thought. Smiling wanly, he regarded the ghost as he continued his monologue.

"Fear of death will only hasten its arrival – and some even say that fear of death is proportional to attachment of ego. In your case, Mr Malfoy, I do believe it would do good to humble yourself. There are many others greater than you in terms of academic prowess, in terms of those who have gone before you and those are yet to come. There are many others who are in different circumstances to you – take Miss Granger here – and yet they still make the most of their lot. IT wouldn't do you any harm to think about that every now and then,"  
Hermione smiled as Malfoy was chided by his house ghost, watching him intently as he nodded meekly at the words being spoken.

"But I think I've given your brains enough to ponder about this morning," the Baron announced, swirling his cape around him, a cloud of dust spiralling through the air. "If at any point you think I can be of further help, you know where to find me. I must find Peeves – he said something earlier about a tapestry and some unsuspecting first years; as always, duty calls. You've got a good brain, Mr Malfoy, and if I'm not mistaken a good heart as well, even if it has been coated in ice up until now. But Miss Granger here has an even better brain, from what I've heard… it might do some good if you let her melt that ice a bit as well…"

The Baron swept off, leaving a pensive Draco and a blushing Hermione in his wake. The dust settled, and Hermione met Malfoy's eyes, which had a softer edge to them now. "Thank you, Hermione… that really helped. I guess I'm beginning to see just how silly fearing death is now… I'm on the way to being alright with it, I think, and it's all down to you." He swung his legs off the windowsill and proffered his hand, aiding Hermione as she jumped down.

"You're welcome, Draco," she smiled as she landed on the flagstone floor.  
The lack of space between them, and the way Malfoy's pupils were blazing with a certain look; an unfamiliar void for Hermione, was making her nervous. She could feel their body heat radiating between them, and she breathed inwards sharply as Malfoy lowered his head slightly, breath catching in her throat as he regarded her quizzically.

She looked up at him, with something akin to resolve written on her face, and she parted her lips slightly, tempting, almost daring him to make the next move. Her eye contact moved from his eyes to his lips; she'd once thought them to be thin and snide, but that was when he was smirking at her… now they were full, if a little paler, and inviting… like a forbidden fruit, Hermione couldn't help but imagine pressing her lips to his. But just as quickly as the moment was created, it was shattered into a thousand pieces as Peeves darted through the Dungeons, dungbomb aloft and cackling, "Run, run as fast as you can, can't catch Peeves, nobody can!"

The noise and commotion that followed caused the duo to spring apart; and when Peeves double took to stare at the students in front of him, his eyes popped open, "My, my, what is this that I see, is Malfoy winning in a bet so far with me? We can't have this, Oh no, not for long, but alas I must dash, wee Peeves needs his fun," he chortled before zooming off. Hermione looked at Malfoy accusingly.

"What was that about?" She demanded. "What's this bet that everybody else in this blinking castle seems to know about apart from me?"

"Err," Malfoy began, "I have no idea, honestly," he lied, gritting his teeth and crossing his fingers behind his back. "This is all as confusing to me as it is to you." Hermione regarded him with a look of suspicion, before shaking it off. They were friends, and friends trusted each other, right? Even if he _was_ a Slytherin, Hermione didn't believe he had any reason to lie to her.

Some part of Hermione was disappointed that the moment Malfoy and her had found herself in minutes before had dissipated and was reduced to nothing but awkward silence; but another part of her was anxious… she really seemed to be feeling deeper for Malfoy than she initially thought. They'd only just become friends, she didn't want things to change just with something as simple as a nearly kiss, and it appeared Malfoy thought the exact same thing when she voiced her opinion.

"Let's just pretend that didn't happen, right, Malfoy?" She suggested, tentatively.

"Sure," Malfoy agreed nonchalantly, a little part of him dying inside at what seemed to be a lost cause and a wasted opportunity. He should've kissed her and never let her go when he'd had the chance, he thought, punching himself almost.

The duo sealed their agreement with a wan smile, and continued their journey to the main body of the castle making casual chat, the feelings bottling inside them seething and sweltering as they brewed…


	29. A Sinking Realisation

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
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**Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Sinking Realisation**

Later that night, Hermione was woken by a piercing scream; that filled the darkness and jolted her from her sleep. She knew immediately where it had come from, and wrapping her maroon – unflattering and completely frumpy – dressing gown around her, she rushed into Malfoy's room, where he sat upright in his bed, sweat drenching the lean torso that Hermione had become so accustomed to these past few days. His eyes were wide and she honestly thought that in all her life experiences, she'd never seen someone looking so scared and tortured. Instead of hesitating, like she had the previous night, she bounded over to the bed, and flung her arms around his neck, the force of her weight sending him crashing back into the piles of pillows that adorned his bed. Ignoring the sweat that made the fabric of her dressing gown stick to his chest, she stroked his blonde locks soothingly as he sobbed into her shoulder; all awkwardness from the day's events completely dissipating in that one moment as she cradled the scared boy in her arms.

When Malfoy regained the power of speech, he immediately began describing his dream to Hermione, a lone tear trailing down his white porcelain skin. "It was horrible, Hermione, it really was…" his breath caught in his throat as he sobbed. "She was there, again," and Hermione immediately knew he had dreamt of his lunatic aunt, "But this time she was torturing and killing innocent people – I didn't know who they were at first, but then I realised they were muggles," he sniffed, "She just unlocked their doors with a wave of her wand, stormed into their houses and cut the throats of the children as their parents watched…" By this point, tears were streaming in a near constant stream down his face, his eyes red rimmed, and Hermione gently ran her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away his tears and she sat on her knees on his bed, his hand in hers and he recalled his dream to her.

"What's wrong with me, Hermione?" Malfoy asked her, his voice taut with raw emotion.

"Shush, Draco you're being silly," Hermione fussed, as she stroked his hand with her thumb. "Nothing is wrong with you – nightmares are a perfectly normal part of a traumatic experience. I'm here for you, don't worry. And I've still got some Dreamless sleep draught left over if you want to take that," she said, taking the vial out of her dressing gown pocket and proffering him the bottle.

He took it gladly, gulping down the bitter mixture with a grimace on his face. Nearly immediately, his face relaxed and he sunk back into his sheets. "Thanks, Hermione, I don't know what I'd do without you, you know," he smiled as he looked up at the bed-headed witch in front of him. She smiled wryly, removing her hand from his as she made to stand up – but he tugged at her arm when she tried to let go.

"Stay, with me, Hermione," Malfoy asked, he asked, begging almost.

"I do have my own bed, you know," Hermione chuckled, trying to keep the worry away from her voice.

"I know, but these beds are pretty spacious," Malfoy grinned, "I'd be happier if you stayed with me," and on that note, Hermione sighed, already formulating a plan in her brilliant mind.

"_Fine_ then," Hermione gave in, "You best be nice to me Malfoy or I may let slip to Harry and Ron your affinity for cuddling," she giggled.

"See if I care Granger, everyone hates me anyway… but Weasley would likely explode like one of his mother's howlers if he found out you and I had shared a bed," Malfoy chuckled.

"I don't hate you," Hermione admitted, her tone heavy with the unsaid. Of course she didn't hate him, she laughed to herself. Why, she thought she might even be falling head over heels in love with the blonde Slytherin! "And I think you're right there – no telling Ron mind, I rather he finished his NEWTs before self-destruction," she giggled, and Malfoy chuckled too, his laughter complimenting hers as it rang through the darkness. He squeezed her hand and pulled her down into the big spacious bed, the maroon dressing gown tumbling off her shoulders as she clambered into the space he'd made next to her, as she curled up against his chest, his arm encased protectively around her.

They made small talk for a while, but it wasn't too long before Malfoy's eyelids drooped shut, and his breathing slowed; every breath raising Hermione up and taking her furiously spinning mind with it.

She couldn't help thinking that there was something not quite right about the nature of these dreams; the horrific detail and the vividness with which Malfoy seemed to recount them gave her an ominous feeling in her stomach – there was something about them which reminded her of something… was it something she'd read? In the restricted section, maybe? She'd always been fascinated by the nature of dreams, and had taken to doing some additional research on them when Harry had foreseen Mr Weasley's attack back in their fifth year.  
Once she was sure that Malfoy was definitely asleep, she gingerly slid his arm off her waist, where it was resting, and slowly edged her way out of his bed – feeling very much like the victim of a drunken one night stand as she tiptoed out of the room, careful not to tread on the squeaky looking floorboards in the process; she didn't imagine Malfoy was a particularly heavy sleeper, and the slightest of noises would've woken him up. Once she was safely out of his room, she made her way to her room with more haste, and cast a shield charm on herself that would make her invisible to a squib such as Filch, although she wasn't sure about the effect it would have on Mrs Norris, were she to encounter the cat that she loathed so much. Security about the castle was much more lax now that Voldemort was dead and gone, but still, she didn't want to be taken any chances, even if the seventh years _were _given special privileges.

As she expected, she didn't encounter anyone on her way to the library – after all, it _was _the dead of the night. Taking the key Madame Pince had given her – delighted to see her favourite student had returned to Hogwarts after the war to complete her studies – she quickly unlocked the library and slipped inside. She perused the shelves, selecting a few of the battered copies of the books on dreaming, before slipping into the office that Blaise, Malfoy and herself were meant to be using to translate the journals for their Ancient Runes project. This room could be a godsend, she thought to herself, sinking into a plush leather armchair to begin reading.

_ Almost everyone has experienced one or more dreams that contain anxiety or outright fear. For some, unpleasant dreams or nightmares recur repeatedly; for others, the content may change while the theme remains the same, such as scenes of falling, or of being pursued or attacked, late or unprepared for a presentation or an exam, stuck in slow motion. This type of experience, when unpleasant, is usually associated with lack of progress by the dreamer to recognize and solve related conflicts in life. These conflicts can be unknown to the dreamer; only there to them in their subconscious state._

_ They are often indirectly warning us about current behaviour patterns or psychological imbalances that we need to remedy if we don't want such unpleasant dreams to repeat, or worsen. Sometimes, such imbalances or patterns resolve themselves as the dream percolates into waking thought and we unknowingly respond and make adjustments in our life. But if we block, deny or ignore such messages from the subconscious for too long, then it usually speaks 'louder' to get our attention often by bringing related events, which I call daymares, into our waking hours. These daymares show up as sickness, accidents, relationship difficulties or other unfortunate personal circumstances that force us outright to deal with the issue at hand. Interestingly enough, such events often have repeating themes as well, such as recurring relationship patterns, for example._

Hermione slammed the book shut, gasping inwardly as the realisation hit her. She realised what Malfoy's descriptions of his dream sounded like – they sounded exactly like the visions that Harry had when he was still connected to Tom Riddle; the ones where he could see into the soul and mind of a living creature… but that couldn't be it, could it? Hermione thought to herself, her stomach a bottomless pit as she forced herself to think about Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, right? Molly Weasley had killed her at the battle of Hogwarts, after all.

But then a sinking realisation hit Hermione.

Bellatrix Lestrange was the Dark Lord's most devoted servant. What if she had learnt of his collection of horcruxes that guaranteed his survival every time Harry attempted to destroy him? What if she, in her admiration and devotion to Voldemort had followed in his footsteps and created some horcruxes of her own? What if she wasn't really dead? What, if like the book said, Draco's dreams were his subconscious and ancestral link telling him that his aunt wasn't truly dead – what if she was biding her time in the shadows?

Hermione felt physically sick as she thought about the consequences of her musings. Just when she thought everything was over, when she believed that she could finally have a normal year at Hogwarts. She felt silly to have assumed that would be so – of course not, something Voldemort related always had to get in the way of her studies; she'd have been stupid to presume it wouldn't.

The thing was, Hermione, for the first time in her life, would've given anything to be wrong. But the thing was about the Grangers, that when they had a premonition, or an idea, it took root, and usually – with very few exceptions – they were right. Hermione's mental cogs were already spinning at an unnatural rate; processing the pressing horror at the belief that Bellatrix Lestrange may not be dead. The woman who had tortured Hermione that day – back at Malfoy manor – who had carved Hermione's one true weakness into her flesh as a constant reminder that she would never be as good as her peers.

Hermione rolled up the sleeve of her gown, and stared at the puckered scar with disgust. No matter how many specialists she saw at St Mungo's, none of them seemed to be able to rid her off it; it was some unknown form of dark magic, they said, and it was likely she'd have the scar for life. Hermione had taken to cursing her own arm in desperate attempts to rid her of the memory that the scar presented to her on a near daily basis; and it felt like she'd developed her own brand of self-harm – no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to rid her arm of the ugly, cruel word. But now, faced with the possibility that it's inflictor wasn't actually dead as she had previously believed, things got too much for Hermione, and a steady stream of tears leaked down her face, splashing onto the book in her hands. Throwing the manuscript aside, Hermione buried her head in her hands and drained herself at the anger, resentment and disgust she felt at the memory of that day at the manor. When her tear ducts had emptied themselves completely, she sat up, straightened her posture and righted her extremely messy hair, and set about formulating a plan to test her theory.

In that moment she decided not to share her suspicions with anyone; whilst the old Hermione may have gone running immediately to Harry or Ron at the first sign of trouble – even to McGonagall – but the new Hermione felt determined, like she had to prove to everyone that she wasn't just the "Sidekick to the Boy Who Lived". She decided that for now, she wouldn't tell Malfoy either. He was having a tough enough time as it was; without the knowledge that his psycho aunt might not really be dead – and that would mean explaining to him about horcruxes, a rigmarole she didn't want to have to go through. So for now, Hermione bottled her fears into a tightly screwed bottle and filed it away to mature in the back of her mind, as she snuck back to her shared common room to catch up on whatever little sleep she could…


	30. Cogs Are Whirring

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** DUN DUN DUN DURRRR… shocking revelations or what? What do you guys think of Hermione's suspicions? Is the Gryffindor right as always, or could she be wrong for once? – Read & review please! – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Thirty: Cogs Are Whirring**

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione was unusually quiet. By the time that she'd finally woken up – thankful that it was the weekend, otherwise she'd have been late to class – she had missed Malfoy, who had already gone to breakfast, his hair ruffled and his mind heavy with the content of his dreams from the previous night, the garish figure of his Aunt always looming in the periphery of his mind. Pulling on some clothes and raking a brush through her knotted curls, only to give up and perform the spell by hand, Hermione had splashed cold water on her face, swilled mouthwash and then gathered a few books into her bag to keep her entertained that day.

She was now sat at the Gryffindor table in between Ginny and some younger student she didn't know. Her quill traced the same word on her essay over and over again, and it was a good job nobody was paying her particular attention or else they would've realised something was wrong. Her mind was whirring with her thoughts from the previous night. What if her suspicions were right – which, let's face it, they usually were; she wasn't the Brightest Witch of her age for nothing now, was she? What if Bellatrix Lestrange really _wasn't_ dead? What if she was _out there_? Hermione shuddered.

She thought she had heard the last of this; all she'd wanted was one quiet, peaceful year at Hogwarts for her to complete her exams in, without any additional stress. She guessed she'd been stupid to think that would be the case, and she turned her musings back to the topic of Horcruxes. What was it Dumbledore had said?

"_Whilst the soul is physically split, such that part of it resides in an object external to the wizard, there is still a psychic linkage, and the wizard's soul cannot leave the Earth while the shard, locked in an object, remains."_

Hermione presumed that any objects used to create Horcruxes would be personal objects to Bellatrix Lestrange. The image of a dagger, hurtling towards the houself she had so willingly befriended, Dobby, flashed into her mind and with a sharp intake of breath, Hermione scribbled 'dagger' onto the parchment in front of her.

The cogs of Hermione's brain were already spinning by now; and Hermione resolved to retrieve the Dagger from Harry's trunk at some point in the near future. It shouldn't be too hard – a confundus charm on Ginny, and before she could blink, the black twisted dagger, heavy with an unnatural weight – which Hermione now believed to be the weight of the evil witch's soul – would be in her possession. She'd stab it with the Basilisk tooth she'd kept as a souvenir of Ron and hers first kiss, and if she was correct in her hypothesis, she'd at least have one Horcrux less to find and destroy. So wrapped up in thought, Hermione didn't notice her ginger friend following her gaze to where Draco Malfoy sat talking to Blaise Zabini, laughing over their croissants and orange juice.

"Earth to Hermione?" Ginny chuckled, as she knocked Hermione's arm and bringing her crashing out of her reverie involving a topless, pyjama-bottom clad Draco Malfoy. Hermione blinked sheepishly.

"What?" She asked embarrassed to have been caught staring at the blonde Slytherin boy.

"Nothing," Ginny grinned, "I can tell you're too busy drooling over Malfoy to give two shits about the Halloween ball."

"What? I was _not_ drooling," Hermione exclaimed, outraged, but a little too hastily to be truthful.

"Sure, Hermione, whatever you say," Harry butted in. "Although it's pretty obvious that ferret boy's got you under his spell. Will you be coming to the Halloween ball with him, then?" He asked.

"Halloween ball?" Hermione asked quizzically; she wasn't in possession of any such knowledge of such a ball… she _hated_ being the last to know about these things!

Perfectly timed in answer to Hermione's question, Professor McGonagall rose from where she was sat at the teacher's table, alongside Professor Krum and Hagrid, and turned to address the student body. "I suspect from the rumours flying around this morning that the majority of you have heard about the plans we have for a ball to be held for the upper school – years five to eight – this Halloween. How the lot of you found out about it so quickly never fails to surprise me – but nonetheless you know about it now, I might as well explain the details now."

Clearing her throat and moving to the candelabra where Dumbledore always made his addresses to the school, she continued, "This Halloween, on the 31st of October the Great Hall shall be open in much the same way as the Yule ball – you shall be expected to have dates and to all participate in the dancing, as is our school tradition… however with a slight difference – this year the Head Girl and Boy and prefect committee shall be organising the dance; they will have a budget to adhere to, but every aspect of the dance will be in their control. Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said, addressing the two head students, "Please arrange meetings with the prefect student body and get onto organising this event as soon as possible. I want you to do everything you can to make this planned evening to run as smoothly as possible – oh, and one more thing; no teachers will be present at this dance, for we feel it is important we give you the independence and experience necessary for a successful transition into adulthood. That shall be all, thank you."

The second that McGonagall sat down, murmurs and chatter broke out across the hall – the older students conversing excitedly whilst a few of the younger students looked somewhat dejected.

"There we go, that cleared that up," grinned Ginny. "So what do you think – who's going to be asking who – Malfoy asking or would you pluck up the courage and ask him yourself?" She chortled, ducking the lopsided punch that Hermione threw her way.

"I am NOT going to any such ball with Draco Malfoy, Ginevra Weasley! Now shut up and leave me alone, I'm reading!"  
Hermione snapped, training her eyes on the book in her lap, although not before quickly darting a quick look in Malfoy's direction, just to make sure he hadn't seen her little outburst. She looked away quickly when she caught his eye; he'd been looking directly at her, and hadn't even tried to make it subtle. A blush rose to her cheeks, only adding to Ginny's mirth.

"Oh come on Hermione don't be such a spoil sport, we all know how madly in love with each other the two of you are!" Ginny jostled her friend.

Ron, still not talking to Hermione, shot up his head at that point, only to glare at his sister when he realised the subject of their conversation was Malfoy. Harry seemed apprehensive – torn between defending his best friend and joining in with his girlfriend's accusations. He opted for the latter.

"It's true Hermione, I mean think about it. Malfoy's the second smartest person in our year. After you, of course. You both rather read than do anything else in the world. He's witty, so are you. Your comeback battles are quite something to watch you know," Harry said, whilst Ginny nodded in agreement. All this made Hermione think for a moment; she really was quite similar to Draco Malfoy – why, she had more in common with him than she did with her best friends of eight years!

"I bet you one thing, Hermione," Ginny mused.

"And what's that, Ginny," Hermione asked, humouring the younger witch.

"That you'll fall in love with Draco Malfoy before the year is out."

Hermione spluttered in indignation and it seemed like her thought process and what she wanted to say weren't exactly working together. It took a good minute or so before she managed an outraged, "Fine, you're on. I bet you ten galleons I will never fall in love with Draco Malfoy, just so long as I live, ever, ever, ever!" And with that, Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall, her satchel bouncing manically, as she made her way to the library to decipher some of the codes for Professor Babbling.

Hermione had been in their Ancient Runes teacher's office a good hour or so before she was disturbed by the ominous creaking of the office door.

"What?" She snapped, annoyed at having her peace of mind destroyed.

Malfoy came into view looking sheepish for disturbing her, "Sorry I just came to work on translating some of this," he said gesturing to the journals around the room. "But if you want me to leave then I will…" He trailed off.

Hermione shook her head. "No, sorry, I didn't mean to snap… please, stay it'll be nice to have some company. We must be the only students who'd dream of doing work on a weekend," Hermione chuckled.

"Too right," Malfoy grinned, "But I wouldn't have it any other way; bookworms and proud of it," he chuckled.

Hermione looked up at him in disbelief. Once upon a time Malfoy had been the sort of boy who'd have ridiculed her for weeks if he'd have overheard her saying something like that… hearing those words come out of his mouth was somewhat refreshing, it made a nice change, Hermione had to admit. "What brings you here on such a nice day?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"I wanted to get away from things," Malfoy admitted. "Being surrounded by people and knowing they hate my sheer existence gets a little old sometimes," he smiled ruefully.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I wish it was easier for you… but human beings aren't very good judges of character, sometimes, are they?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well people can't see how you've changed for the better; how you haven't let the outcome of the war turn you into a bitter jaded person against the world. Take Ron, for example. He refuses to see my friendship with you as anything genuine – I swear he thinks you've slipped me a potion or something to make me like you –"

Malfoy chuckled. "Stupid Weasley, eh. He never did learn; he had you right under his nose for a whole seven years and not once was he brave enough to make a move. Seven fucking years," Malfoy laughed in disbelief.

"He always has been a slow learner," Hermione compensated, giggling to herself.

"And why do I detect an element of innuendo to that statement, eh, Granger?" Malfoy laughed. "I feel sorry for the poor guy having to compete with Krum… but was he really that bad?"

Hermione went red thinking about the awkward fumblings she'd had back in Ron's bedroom at the burrow. His calloused fingers never seemed to know what to do, where to go, how to return the favours Hermione had so generously lavished upon him, time and time again.

"He needs a lot more practice," Hermione admitted.

"Hmm, interesting words coming from the Gryffindor goddess of sex," Malfoy laughed.

Hermione raised her eyebrow, and threw a cushion at the Slytherin boy sprawled on the chaise long across from her, in response.  
"Kidding, kidding," Malfoy grinned, "Sheesh Granger, lighten up."

"Coming from the king of brooding?" Hermione retorted.

"Touché," Malfoy chuckled.

The duo read in amicable silence for a good hour or two; the noise of quills scratching on parchment as they worked to decipher the text. Every now and then, one of them would ask the other for help, or would share their thoughts on a specific sentence; but other than that the only sounds that could be heard were the rustle of parchment and the meticulous ticking of the majestic oak grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room, reminding them of the hours, minutes, seconds that they spent in the others company.

Around lunchtime, Malfoy spoke first. "Hungry, Granger?"

Hermione looked up from her translation, noting that it really was lunch time – wow, she thought, how quickly time had passed. "Sure."

"What do you say to joining me for a picnic by the Great Lake for lunch? I've got some butterbeer in my room, and it is a nice day after all – we can take some of the manuscripts with us, if you want?" Malfoy suggested, casually.

Standing up, Hermione nodded, "Sure. It'd be nice to get away from this musty old room for a bit, and I'm hungry anyway. Where are we going to get the food from?"

"Kitchens," Malfoy grinned, "I've befriended a houself or two," he explained.

Hermione nearly died of shock. Draco Malfoy, a man of Pureblood stature renowned for his dependency on other magical creatures for his luxurious lifestyle, was friends with house elves. Hermione felt like fainting; she hadn't been so surprised since Ron had kissed her back in the Chamber of Secrets. "What?" Malfoy asked, bemused.

"Nothing," Hermione grinned smiling secretively to herself. Maybe Ginny was going to win this bet after all; it seemed the more time Hermione Granger spent with Draco Malfoy, the more and more she found herself inexplicably drawn to the golden haired youth; to his wit, to his charm and not to mention to his ravishing good looks.

And with the simple promise of a sun soaked afternoon, butterbeer and translating of runes to the pleasant melody of companionable conversation, the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange's horcruxes were pushed to the back of Hermione Granger's mind…


	31. Disingenuous Dealings of Blaise Zabini

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Thirty-One: Disingenuous Dealings of Blaise Zabini  
****  
** Two stressful weeks later, Hermione found herself atop a stepladder, adorning one of the candelabra with fake cobwebs. She was on breaking point; she really wished McGonagall had asked her first before delivering the role of planning and organising a Halloween party for the upper school. As if the stress of NEWTs and _Malfoy_ weren't enough, she had prefects clamouring for her attention, updating her on the shortage of faux spiders and lack of pumpkin punch every two minutes.

If that wasn't bad enough, Ginny somehow always managed to track her down whenever she finally had a moment to herself, spending painful hours describing outfits and asking for Hermione's opinions on them. The youngest Weasley was usually great company, but the fact that she had a date to the dance – Harry, of course – and Hermione still didn't, certainly didn't make her feel wonderful.

She'd been watching Malfoy for any indication he would ask her – for surely the Head Boy and Girl would go together? Besides, she thought bitterly … who else did Malfoy have to ask? Pansy Parkinson probably still wouldn't say no if he asked her, and she watched the pug face girl follow Malfoy with a jealous eye, from the Gryffindor table where she ate her meals. But Pansy had remained obtuse to Malfoy's existence, and Malfoy himself had been nonchalant. He had remained calm and composed and friendly towards her – they spent many evenings in front of their shared fireplace, discussing the wonders of literature and debating many a topic, and yet that was it; he didn't show any want for anything more than the platonic friendship they'd developed.

If she was entirely honest with herself, Hermione's ego was getting a bit dented. She knew for a fact Ron had been asked by thirty two swooning female fans to accompany them to the dance (he'd raised his voice when telling Harry at breakfast, she was sure that he did so solely for her benefit – as they still weren't on speaking terms), and she herself had yet to receive a single invite. Well, there was Cormac McLaggen but she wasn't sure as to whether as he counted as a person or an animal, given the way he'd try to devour her at Slughorn's Christmas party a few years ago.

At that precise moment in time, she sighed as she tacked the sticky cobwebs down, musing how she wouldn't have been surprised to have woken up and find that her hair had all fallen out – the stress and anxiety was certainly enough to do just that… but Hermione, being Hermione Granger, known for her composure and wit, was just about keeping on top of things.

That was until Draco Malfoy appeared.

"Whatcha Granger, that cobweb's wonky," the blonde Slytherin boy jibed, amicably. But Hermione's pent up frustrations didn't register the degree of friendliness in his tone, and instead she snapped at him. It wasn't just the stress getting to her – Hermione had found herself acting increasingly weirdly around Malfoy, given her sudden onset of bizarre feelings for the boy (which had finally become noticeable round about the time of their afternoon picnic, a few weeks ago). It had taken every ounce of her self-restraint, butterbeer or no butterbeer, to keep from pouncing on him and kissing the living daylights out of him….

So when she snapped, Hermione didn't really mean to, but it was the confusing wash of teenage emotions getting to her…

"For goodness sake Malfoy, you've done fuck all to help today – I'm up to my elbows in work whilst you're stood there with that ridiculous smug grin of yours, chiding and berating me when all I'm doing is my very best! For goodness sake!" She exclaimed, teetering as she did, from where she was precariously balanced on the stepladder. It just so happened that balance wasn't exactly one of Hermione's great strengths, and with a topple she fell from the height of the ladder.

You might expect a sudden thump, a cry of pain and perhaps a broken bone or two, but instead, Hermione landed safely in the arms of Blaise Zabini, who had seen the exchange between Malfoy and Granger, and had wandered over, curious. Hermione looked up with wide eyes at her rescuer, and stammered a thank you as he helped her to her feet.

"Er, thanks, um, Blaise," Hermione said, the roots of her hair blushing, as she straightened her skirt. Blaise smirked – something that must be compulsory learning for all Slytherins, Hermione mused – and waved it off.

"No problem Granger, whenever I see a damsel in distress, I'll be there," he grinned, cheekily as he threw Malfoy a slightly boastful look. Malfoy seethed, watching the exchange between Blaise and his girl. Wait, scratch that, _Hermione_. She wasn't a possession, for a start, and more unfortunately, she wasn't his. Yet.

"Don't milk it, Blaise, she said thank you, you can go now," Malfoy said, somewhat bitterly. Hermione looked at him in utter shock.

"Don't you dare tell him what to do, Malfoy," she spat as she rounded on him. "If it wasn't for you and your petty little comments, I wouldn't have fallen off in the first place, and Blaise would have had no need to catch me –"

"Ohh _Blaise_ now, is it?" Malfoy jibed, "Since when are you two on first name terms, eh?" He asked, shooting daggers in Blaise's directions. Why did _everything_ in Slytherin have to be such a fucking competition? Blaise knew too damn well that Malfoy had developed a thing for Hermione, and he certainly wasn't doing a thing to help his case. So much for being "best friends".

To just put the icing on the cake, Blaise turned again to Hermione, drawing in a breath as if to make a big announcement, "Erm, Hermione?" he started, and Hermione nodded, indicating for him to continue, "I was wondering if you'd come to the –"

Malfoy shoved Blaise aside, angry now, "," he rushed, without even breathing, too worried that Blaise would finish his invitation, and that would be that, Hermione would say yes and then his best friends would walk off into the sunlight together.

Time stopped, as Draco waited with baited breath for her reply.

By now an amused grin was playing on Hermione's face; she was finally beginning to understand Draco's hostility towards Blaise and the manipulative Slytherin ways of Zabini. Her brain was quick as per usual, to figure out he'd manipulated Malfoy into asking the very question Hermione had been waiting to hear, ever since she'd first found out about the dance. The reality was Blaise Zabini didn't _really_ have a thing for Hermione, she realised; he just had a thing for getting one over the blonde pompous Slytherin she'd come to love in such strange circumstances, these past few months. But he'd seen Malfoy's infatuation with her, and probably her own returned intrigue… and he'd put two and two together and had orchestrated this very moment for her benefit.

A look at Zabini and the way his eyes were glinting as he watched her confirmed all this, and she resolved to thank him immensely later. For the second brightest boy in her year, Malfoy really was quite obtuse, sometimes.

Her breath nearly caught in her throat. "Erm I'm sorry, Draco, I didn't quite catch that…. What was that?" She grinned cheekily, and Malfoy's cheeks turned crimson, as the realisation he'd been tricked dawned on him, too.

He ran a hand through his hair, sheepishly; one hand casually in his pocket, one of the things Hermione had noticed he did when nervous. "Sorry about that… I guess you could say what I was trying to ask, and have been trying to work out how to for the better part of two weeks," he rambled... "Will you come to the dance with me, tonight?"

Hermione beamed, and flung herself at Malfoy, nearly knocking him backwards with sheer force. Mouthing _thank you_ at Zabini over his shoulder, Blaise nodded, taking that as his cue to leave, and sauntered off… His hands slid to her waist as she hugged him, and she sighed against his neck.

"I was beginning to think you'd never ask," she admitted, the warmth of her breath sending a tingling sensation throughout Malfoy's body.

Some of Malfoy's edge had returned, and he retorted chuckling, "Well, being the feminist you are, Granger, I figured it would be you inviting me, I didn't realise I had to do _everything_ around here," he jibed, and she dug him in the ribs.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, "Us Malfoy's are delicate creatures you know, you can't just brutally attack them like that… I'll have to get a restraining order against you," he chuckled, "That would make dancing with you rather interesting, would it not."

"Shut up, Malfoy," grinned Hermione, as the anticipation of the evening to come bubbled away in her stomach, "You totally deserved that."

"Make me," he retorted, like a cheeky ten year old. And Hermione Granger did just that, reaching up to kiss him, short, brief, fleeting even. That light brush of her lips against his was tantalising, teasing and provocative, things which Draco didn't even know you could feel from such a chaste action.

Before he could ensnare her and kiss the living daylights out of the girl in front of him (like he'd been wanting to do for some time, now), Hermione sauntered off, straightening a table cloth and talking to some prefects like the previous moments exchange had never transpired.

That certainly shut him up, Hermione thought to herself in her state of elation, as she tried to look cool and composed as she walked off to talk to Justin Finch-Fletchley about the staging of the band.

Draco Malfoy raised a hand to his lips, they were still tingling, and if he closed his eyes, he could feel the warmth of Hermione's peachy lips against his… some dumb Shakespeare line, "two blushing pilgrims, holy palmer's kiss" popped into his head, and he grinned. Wow. Hermione Granger really was something special, and he'd do everything within his power to pay her back for that tempting gesture she'd just presented him with, tonight, he resolved…


	32. The Dragon and the Devil

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Thirty-Two: The Dragon and the Devil**

Hermione wandered down the corridors up to her dorm with a bemused smile on her face – she was known for being confident, but she certainly hadn't kissed anyone into silence before. She could still feel the light pressure of his lips against hers, and she grinned to herself. She'd kissed Draco Malfoy! What on earth would Ginny say, if she knew? This sensation growing in her stomach, a churning mass of emotions was familiar, after all everyone's had a little school girl crush at some point. But this time it was different – exciting even – and Hermione didn't have any idea what to expect.

She was so busy daydreaming that she nearly collided with a group of fifth years as she rounded a corner, and apologetically hurried on her way – she had an outfit in mind for the dance, but it couldn't hurt to pamper herself a few hours in advance. A smile came to her face as she remembered her conversation about the Yule ball; apparently even Malfoy had wanted her on his arm that night. She had a lot to live up to, but the fancy dress element of the ball meant she really would have to pull out all the stops. A familiar voice drifted to her, from around the corner – Ron's voice was loud and even though it was a lot deeper now, it was easily distinguishable as his.

"I don't think Hermione's got a date yet, the poor thing. What's to bet she'll spend the entirety of the evening in the corner reading a book or something?" Ron guffawed, and Hermione instinctively clenched her fists from where she was stood eavesdropping. Harry piped up in her defence, though, and she smiled wanly – at least Harry wasn't _completely_ on Ron's side, he still had his voice of reason.

"Don't say things you'll regret Ron – you saw how amazing she looked at the Yule ball, heck, you wouldn't shut up about her the entire evening, no wonder the Patils got sick of us! She's bound to have a date, in case you haven't noticed but you've not made much of an effort to speak to her, lately."

"Alright, alright, I can see which side you're on, that much is pretty clear," Spat Ron. "I was only saying, I've not heard that anyone asked her, that's all."

Hermione waited until their voices grew fainter as they walked off before she exhaled. She was fuming, absolutely fuming that that egotistical red-haired bastard had the audacity to undermine her yet again. He'd ruined what had been a wonderful evening for her, last time at the Yule ball, and she sure as hell was not going to let him get to her this time around. Facing the Shakespeare portrait, she was granted entrance to her dormitory and stormed into the bathroom after grabbing her things.

The hot water of the shower cascaded down, and Hermione sighed happily as the knots and tension points in her neck and back, created by none other than Ronald Bilius Weasley, were eased. She massaged cinnamon shampoo into her locks, and the foamy lather swirled down the plughole along with her vexations. She was going to have a great time tonight, with Malfoy, and there was nothing that that ginger prick was going to do to change that.

Patting herself dry with one of her own towels – no need for the luxurious green cotton towels belonging to Malfoy, this time, as she'd remembered her own, Hermione smoothed cocoa butter over her legs and arms, freshly shaved and moisturized, she dried her hair with a simple spell, ran some sleek-easy into it, and charmed her hair to fall in luscious curls around her shoulders. With a few grips she pinned some of her hair into a plait that wrapped round her head in an elfish twist, and slid a ruby encrusted tiara into her hair, the peaks of it rising to form red glinting horns. Slipping on her underwear, she slid into the red dress she'd bought especially for the occasion. It was quite extravagant, she would admit, she had felt a bit spoilt handing over the amount of galleons she had in order to pay for it. The bodice was tight and with the help of a corset, fit extra snugly to Hermione's recently developed curvature. The under part of her ribcage was strewn with glinting gems; reds and gold, which trailed down her midriff, where the skirt gathered at the upper part of her leg, before fanning out into an elegant jewel-strewn fish tail, with the gold lace underskirt contrasting with the ruby red of the fabric that clung to Hermione's figure.

She surveyed herself critically in the mirror, before grinning cheekily – definitely a devilish look, she mused. With a touch of blush to her cheeks and dark eyeliner arching seductively upwards along her lids, Hermione nodded. Finished. Ready as she'd ever be, she glanced at the clock. There were fifteen minutes before she was required downstairs to announce the start of the ball, and her mind wandered to her peers who were probably hurriedly putting their own finishing touches to their outfits, back in their own dorms.  
Tweaking her tiara, and applying one last coat of mascara, Hermione picked up the red purse she'd chosen with the dress, slid her wand and some change for drinks into the bag, and left the dorm to an "Oo-er, haven't you smartened up!" from none other than William Shakespeare.

Hermione wasn't the first student at the great hall – several of the lower years were already present, eager to show off their outfits. Hermione spotted Luna in a trailing white dress, and ivy leaves wound round her midriff and wrapped into her hair – she smiled as she noticed she'd tapered the tips of her ears to points, and she was looking very elf-like, accompanied by a tux clad Neville, dancing shoes in tow, who clearly hadn't got the memo that the dance was meant to be fancy dress. She smiled warmly at the couple, and they congratulated her on what she'd done to the Great hall; cobwebs hung from the rafters, and flickering pumpkins provided the area with a medieval like glow. McGonagall had been great help in charming the ceiling to show a full moon, and she smiled sadly, if only Professor Lupin had still been around to see it … she wondered how many boys would come dressed up as werewolves tonight. Ginny swept into the hall, and Hermione gasped as her friend approached her - she looked truly amazing, her elegant green ball gown and witch's hat complimenting her poker straight hair, and Hermione thought she'd never seen a more beautiful witch in her life. Harry and Ron arrived not too shortly afterwards, both sporting black tuxes and vampire fangs – highly unoriginal, Hermione had to admit – although the faux blood dribbling down Harry's chin did look especially gruesome. Ron, however, didn't look any more garish than usual, Hermione giggled to herself.

But Hermione's giggles stopped entirely when she caught sight of Malfoy from across the Great Hall. He was wearing an iridescent green tux; the very shade of green which he had stated suited Hermione herself. The pearly nature of it rippled like dragon scales, and his blonde locks haphazardly framed his face. The mask in his hand was truly exquisite – a dragon face gleamed at Hermione from across the room for the mask itself was encrusted in jewels, different sized emeralds with two amethysts set as eyes, and a snaking ruby tongue framing the piece. Malfoy caught Hermione's eye, and smirked seductively as he glanced her up and down; noticing with great care the nature of her dress, the way it clung to her curves before flaring out at the bottom. Hermione excused herself from the company of Neville and Luna and gracefully made her way over to where Malfoy stood – feeling very proud at herself at the fact that she didn't trip over her own dress and very much embarrass herself.

"Wow, Hermione," Malfoy exclaimed, "I didn't think you could top your performance at the Yule ball, but you really have done it … may I just say you look positively devilish, tonight," he grinned wickedly.

"Why thank you," she grinned, "So would I be safe to presume you want me on your arm just as much as you did back then?"

"That would be correct, yes," he admitted with a wry grin. "Seems like everyone's arriving now… what d'you say to me getting us some drinks?"

"That sounds great if you ask me … I have to just announce the start to the party but I'll come join you as soon as I can," she explained.

"I can't wait," Malfoy said, cheerily causing a blush to flush across Hermione's already rose-tinted cheeks. He placed a chaste kiss on her hand, and she felt her heart perform a little somersault as he did so.

Climbing up to the platform to where the Weird Sisters would be performing in order to provide the music for the night, Hermione raised her wand to her throat, amplifying her voice so that everyone in the hall could hear her.

"I'd like to welcome you all here tonight to this Halloween ball – you've all done a spectacular job on your outfits," she announced, surveying the sea of fancy dress in front of her; there were pumpkins, witches, spiders, vampires, werewolves, devils and daemons galore – everyone had certainly done themselves proud, with the exception of Neville of course, who was standing awkwardly on the side-lines. "I'd just like to thank the Head Boy and rest of the prefects for helping to make this evening possible – and for putting up with me when I've been such an insufferable cow, these past few weeks," Hermione added, to chuckles around the room. "That's pretty much it – just enjoy yourself and try to behave!" The head girl in her added on the end there, and people erupted into cheers throughout the hall as the weird sisters played the opening riff to _Do the Hippogriff._

Hermione sighed a sigh of relief – all responsibility had been removed off her shoulders for the evening - that was until it came to clearing up. But she wasn't going to think about that now. She was going to have fun and enjoy herself, with Malfoy in plain view of everyone else in the school, and she didn't care who saw. Least of all Ronald Bastard Weasley.

Catching sight of the dashing blonde gentleman in the show-stopping green tux, Hermione made her way over to him, brushing against Ron as she did so, in her haste to reach her date. Ron whirled round, open mouthed as he caught sight of Hermione, and both Harry and Ginny laughed raucously as he shook his head in disbelief, murmuring "bloody hell" as his eyes followed Hermione's arse across the room. But his eyes flashed with anger when he spotted her destination, and his fists curled as Malfoy placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her over to some seats. He had thought Malfoy was up to something – how _dare_ he invite Hermione to the ball with him? He'd keep an eye on her all night, he vowed, but a few butterbeers later and he was raving up and down like a lunatic to the band, grinding up against some shell-shocked sixth year.

"Have you seen Weasley?" Malfoy chuckled, gesturing to the rowdy ginger in the centre of the dancing, the sixth year he was grinding against looking utterly perturbed. Hermione burst out laughing, spitting out a mouthful of butterbeer out as she did so, her sheer embarrassment only causing Malfoy to also double up in hysterics.

"What on earth did I ever see in him?" Hermione exclaimed… "He's disgusting, his mere existence does the male population a disservice – I'm almost tempted to jinx him to help that poor sixth year out!"

"I honestly don't know, Hermione," Malfoy admitted, "You could have any guy in the school and you choose Weasley … even Potter, the Chosen One, and you go for his ginger mate? You really do have a shocking track record, a Quidditch star that couldn't pronounce your name and is now our teacher, as well as a ginger arse."

"Oh shut up," groaned Hermione, "You can't say much either," she reminded him, gesturing to Pansy Parkinson who was currently molesting Goyle over in the corner of the hall, her dress nearly halfway up her thighs. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Well looks like we could both do with improving on our track records… please tell me you can dance, Granger?" Malfoy asked, "Just I could barely walk for a week after the Yule ball, Pansy has the co-ordination of Hagrid after a few fire whiskeys."

"Well let's find out," she grinned, taking Malfoy's hand as she pulled him over to the dance floor. Just as they got there, the upbeat tune that had been resonating throughout the hall faded out, and a slow, romantic tune started playing. Hermione grinned shyly at Malfoy, and he took hold of her waist without hesitation, pulling her close to him, and she placed her arms around his neck, looking up at him with an earnest look in her eye, as they glided seamlessly across the dance floor amongst the other couples. Ron had disappeared from sight, instead Harry and Ginny danced awkwardly, too busy staring into each other's eyes to note where they were going. Luna and Neville, possibly the most mismatched couple Hogwarts had ever seen in terms of the height difference were in a world of their own, and Blaise and an unfamiliar Ravenclaw seventh year were making eyes at one another from across the floor. Blaise caught Hermione's eye and winked at her from over Malfoy's shoulder, and she smiled against Malfoy's neck, the warmth of her breath sending an unfamiliar tingle coursing through Malfoy's body.

Hermione and Malfoy danced together unfalteringly for the duration of four or so more songs, before needing a much needed sit down and refreshment. Malfoy came back from the bar grinning, as he placed down six fire whiskey shots. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly.

"I'm meant to be a role model, you know, Malfoy," she chided half-heartedly, "What on earth would McGonagall say if she saw us now?"

"Well I happen to know that all the teachers have retired to bed," Malfoy grinned, "My trusty sources confirm it. So actually, there's no one around but me to see the Head Girl – an excellent one at that – let her hair down just a little."

"Oh alright then," she sighed. "But I'll warn you, me and alcohol are not a great mix."

"Oh and why's that?" Malfoy enquired, inquisitively.

"Well let's just say that I have a certain inability to refrain from keeping my hands off the opposite sex," Hermione admitted, embarrassed.

"Granger's a horny drunk?" Malfoy grinned, "My, the evening just gets better and better," he chuckled with a saucy wink. "What are we waiting for then?" picking up a shot glass and proffering another to Hermione.

She took it from him with a roll of her eyes. "You're a corrupting influence, you know that," she grinned.

"You love me for it, though," Malfoy retorted.

"Hmm, debatable," she chuckled, at his look of mock outrage. "Let's get this over and done with," she agreed, tossing the fiery liquid back and gasping as it burned her throat on the way down – not dissimilar to the muggle drink, Vodka, she mused. As the alcohol filled her synapses she grinned at Malfoy, who was still wincing as the shot made its way down his throat. "And again?" She asked eagerly, before knocking back another shot.

"Fuck, Hermione," Malfoy grinned. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep up with you," he admitted. Before they drank the third, Harry and Ginny, with Ron in tow came over to the table, looking like they'd all had a bit much to drink. Looking around, Hermione saw that by now the band were packing up – it had gone three am already – and most of the students had gone off to bed, with only a handful of eight and seventh years remaining.

The five students stood awkwardly, the tension between Malfoy, Ron and Hermione growing even more prominent by the minute, but Hermione spoke first.

"Hey guys… had a good night?" Her question was addressed mainly to Ginny, to whom she was still on speaking terms with, but Harry answered anyway.

"It's been great – job well done, 'Mione." He pushed his glasses nervously up his nose. "We were wondering if you and Malfoy wanted to join us for a drinking game before retiring to bed?"

With a look at Malfoy, who shrugged, confused to be offered a place in Hermione's group of friends so easily (although he suspected that the influence of alcohol had had something to do with it), Hermione nodded. "Sure, what did you have in mind?"

"Spin the bottle," Ron spoke up. He hadn't taken his eyes off Hermione for the entirety of the conversation, and his eyes were glazed over with a desire, for just what, Hermione didn't want to think about.

"I'm game for that if you are, Hermione," Malfoy readily agreed, already hoping that he wouldn't have to do anything as disgusting as make out with Potter – the only Gryffindor he had any intention of kissing this evening was Hermione. Spin the bottle was just a great way of working up the guts to do what he'd wanted to do all evening.

Her hand was taken by the familiar calloused hands of Draco Malfoy, and everyone stood in the circle noticed him intertwining his fingers with Hermione's own. They also noticed the way their fingers seemed to interlace together perfectly, and the way his stance was protective, almost daring anyone to make a move on her. He'd staked his claim on he - that much was clear. Just it seemed that from Ron's point of view, he had yet to relinquish that claim he had on her. If only Hermione could see the cogs whirring in the minds of the men that wanted her, she would be absolutely horrified. Yet in her naivety and drunken state of mind, not so much as an alarm bell rang, so she agreed to Ron's suggestion without so much as a second thought.

"Sure," Hermione agreed. "I'm up for that."

Ginny clapped excitedly, and Harry and Ron beamed. "Let the fun begin!" exclaimed the red haired witch, eyes glazed over with excitement and a growing sense of anticipation for the events to come…


	33. Just A Kiss

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N:** I really am sorry for that cliff-hanger last chapter. I am a horrible person. Nah, I thought this game would warrant a chapter of its own – so let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who put forward ideas for what should happen in this chapter, your ideas were appreciated and utilised – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Thirty Three: Just a Kiss**

The group gathered in the centre of the Great hall; now very much clear after the vast majority of the students had disappeared off to their beds for the night, their feet aching after hours of jumping up and down to the beat of the Weird Sister's latest single. All teachers had long left the room, with the prospect of getting up to watch the Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff the next day, so the group had the room pretty much to themselves, with the exception of Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and their partners, who all seemed suitably occupied, anyway, Hermione noted.

Ginny was giggling as she sat down, and Harry had a pink flush to his cheek – Hermione would be damned if Harry didn't finally make a move on Ginny tonight, even if Ron WAS there; surely Ron would rather his best mate proclaimed his undying love for the feisty Weasley girl, than some random kid in Ginny's year with only one thing on his mind, she mused. Malfoy sat opposite Hermione in the circle, and an assortment of other students joined them; filling the gaps. Parvati sat down next to Ginny, with Ron taking the seat next to Hermione, who she edged away from subconsciously, to Malfoy's amusement.

Neville and Luna joined the circle, with Neville taking Hermione's right, and Luna sitting on Malfoy's left, in her non-caring bemused manner, not minding the fact that Malfoy himself had hexed her trainers to hang from the arch in the Potions corridor, and hadn't bothered to get them down for her once it reached the end of term, even though Luna had asked him as nicely as one could.

But Luna didn't hold grudges, so Malfoy found himself smiling back at the blonde Ravenclaw when she flashed him her pearly whites, and whether that was the alcohol talking or not, Malfoy honestly didn't know. He was going soft – this was what Hermione was doing to him, he grinned to himself, noticing out of the corner of his eye the unnerving glare that Ron was throwing his way, making no attempt to hide his contempt for the reformed Slytherin.

Seamus, who had aptly dressed as a firework, given his tendency to make everything he touched explode, to the amusement of his classmates, sat in between Harry and Neville, grinning broadly as the Firewhiskey he'd been drinking all evening caught up with him. Once everyone had sat down, Ginny unveiled an empty bottle of butterbeer as if it was a sacred object, placing the bottle in the centre of the circle, and looking around at the assembled students; some older some younger than the red headed witch, but all faces she had known for many years of her life, whether she'd always liked them or not, she thought, as her gaze fell on Malfoy.

"So does everyone know how to play?" Ginny enquired, meeting the eyes of everyone in the group.

Parvati spoke up, in her simpering tones, "I think I remember from Slughorn's Christmas party," she began, "But do you think you could just go over it so that we're all absolutely certain?"

"Course," Ginny grinned, "Basically all that happens is we take it in turns to spin the bottle. If you're male and it lands on a guy you're allowed to kiss them on the cheek the first time; same for if it's girl on girl, but after that you have to kiss them on the lips for as long as the pair see fit. You're not allowed to hex the bottle to avoid kissing someone you don't want to, and if it's an opposite sex pairing you have to start with a kiss on the lips, not the cheek. Got it?"

Everyone nodded in response to Ginny's explanation. The witch grinned, reaching for the bottle. "Let the games begin," she announced, as with a flick of her wrist, the bottle span round, chinking against the marble of the floor. Blaise Zabini looked up at the noise and so did Pansy and Goyle. The three Slytherins edged closer to the game, standing round the sidelines as the bottle began to slow down, and everyone waited with baited breath to see who it would land on.

The bottle slowed to a stop, the neck of the bottle pointing in between Harry and Seamus, and Hermione lent over to judge who it landed on.

"Sorry Gin," she announced, "But it's pointing more towards Seamus than it is Harry," causing further blush to colour Harry's already red cheeks.

Ginny shrugged, still smiling, and leaning over Harry's lap, making things extremely awkward as everyone watched, she kissed Seamus lightly on the lips, and it only lasted a few seconds, but by the end, Harry was a shade of beetroot, and whether intentional or not, Hermione noted he'd clenched his fists. Ginny pulled back, and threw an apologetic smile at Harry, lessening his angry exterior slightly. Harry took the bottle, gave it a quick spin and watched to see where it would land.

The group laughed in unison as the bottle landed on Hermione, and both people in chorus went, "Oh no!" because everyone knows there's nothing more awkward – except for maybe having to kiss family – than being made to kiss your best friends, who you've known forever and haven't ever had romantic inclinations towards. Still, Malfoy watched with distaste as Harry leant over and Hermione leaned forward, eyes screwed shut and wincing in anticipation, as Harry and Hermione pecked each other so quickly in order to get it over with, that they head-butted one another, and both retreated to their seats nursing head injuries – only a minor bump, mind, but the alcohol had certainly not helped their co-ordination – to the amusement of everyone watching.

Ginny leant over and kissed Harry's forehead better, and he grinned like a five year old on Christmas morning, and Ron glowered at his sister from where he sat.

After Seamus had spun the bottle and been made to kiss an unimpressed Parvati – who had always made an effort to snub Seamus whenever he tried to tell her he liked her, she'd even turned down his invitation to the Yule ball – Ginny spoke up to address the Slytherins stood watching the game with interest.

"D'you want to play?" She asked, to the shock of the throng of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and lone Slytherin sitting in the circle formation.

Pansy spoke up in her high pitched whiney voice, "Why on earth would I want to exchange saliva with you _cretins_," she sneered, and Goyle guffawed unintelligently.

Blaise cut Pansy off, "Sure, I'd love to play." And that was that. He sat down on the other side of Luna, and Ginny smiled at him welcomingly. The Weasley witch knew Blaise was desirable, and she knew that Parvati had a thing for him anyway. Having more players made the game more interesting anyway. Seeing the dark-skinned Slytherin had sat down in the circle, Pansy wavered, before sitting down as well, between Goyle and Ron, who she shot a look of disgust.

"If Zabini's playing then we might as well join," She announced, "But don't for one second think that I'm going to kiss any of you dirty blooded freaks," She added. The group chuckled – now the war was over, insults like those merely bounced off – they'd see what the game would bring.

Neville span the bottle, and screwed his eyes shut, crossing his fingers as he did so, but not after shooting a fearful look in the new member's directions. A loud guffaw of laughter broke out as the bottle came to a rest and landed on none other than Goyle – Neville sighed, putting his head in his hands before asking, dejectedly, "Why's it always me?" to only more laughter.  
"I suppose I better get this over with then," Neville winced, as he leant over the circle to place a fleeting kiss on Goyle's cheek, who sat there in shock, a hand to his face in the place where Neville had kissed him.

Pansy retched and turned to Goyle, before saying, "I hope you realise I can no longer touch you, this evening," before turning to the front again. This only caused more laughs, to which eventually, Goyle joined in, as the initial shock of what had just happened wore off.

Hermione's turn now, and she span the bottle, almost silently willing it to land on Malfoy. As it began to slow down, she started to smile subtly as it seemed to be heading towards Malfoy, but to her dismay, it stopped dead on Zabini, who smiled ruefully, shot an apologetic look at his blonde haired friend. He didn't want to cause a fuss, but he had to admit he had been wanting a taste of the Gryffindor princess, so he met Hermione's lips with gusto, kissing her tenderly for a few moments, before she pulled away, and sat back in her seat, her eyes down and refusing to meet Malfoy's, from across the circle. Zabini grinned as he sat down, ignoring the pointed looks of dislike Ron and Malfoy were throwing in his direction. Ron took up the bottle almost too eagerly, before looking sideways to see Hermione's rose tinted cheeks. He span it quickly, and everyone waited with baited breath once more for it to come to a halt.

Ron sighed as he saw who it landed on, whilst everyone but the Weasleys laughed. Ginny, great. Ron had been hoping for a decent snog from Hermione, but no, he'd gone and landed himself with his own sister, hadn't he. He shrugged, leant over and placed a kiss on Ginny's cheek. That had been another unspoken rule – nobody had to do anything remotely sexual with family, that would be weird, so Ron's turn was merely platonic. Pansy took up the bottle, gave it a good spin, and everyone watched as it began to slow. Time stopped and the group was silent as the neck of the bottle landed on Ron, who sat open mouthed, staring at the bottle in disbelief.

Nobody dared laugh, not knowing how Pansy or Ron would react if they did, so Pansy was the first to break the silence. "I'm not kissing _that._" She exclaimed, jerking her thumb sideways at Ron.

"The feeling's mutual," Ron muttered.

"Well I hate to break it to you," Ginny grinned spitefully, "That I enchanted the bottle so that if you refuse to kiss who it lands on then your clothes will disappear and the entire group will see you naked."

Pansy and Ron sat in silence. They didn't want that to happen of course, but kissing each other sounded like a sore deal too.

Hermione threw a sideways glance at Ginny, who was supressing a smirk. Hermione knew the witch hadn't enchanted the bottle because she hadn't had her wand with her the entire evening. Everyone was clearly too drunk to realise that, though; and although Hermione's senses were somewhat numbed by her alcohol consumption, she still had her famous wit. But instead of ruining Ginny's fun, Hermione grinned, "Get on with it," She jibed, "Chicken," she added, because she knew it always riled Ron whenever she called him a coward.

"Fine," Pansy spat, "But I'll need twenty bottles of mouth wash after this," as she grabbed Ron angrily by the neck, pulling him towards her as she captured his lips in an angry kiss. To everyone's surprise, Ron met her with as much fervour as she'd thrown his way, and instead of pulling way immediately, dipped his head to recapture her lips in a thorough snog, once the initial kiss had been broken. Everyone hooted and catcalled, as both participants pulled away truly embarrassed. Pansy made a song and dance about wiping her mouth, but the damage was done. A _Slytherin_ had just kissed a Gryffindor and by the looks of it – no protest was made at Ron's desire for more – _enjoyed it_! Hermione shook her head. The world was going mad.

Goyle span the bottle, and after kissing Pansy, much to everyone's relief (but maybe not Pansy's), Blaise gave the bottle a spin, only for it to land on Luna, who shrugged and leaned in to share a gentle kiss with the Slytherin, not lasting longer than necessary, but still for their drunken state it was sweet. But Neville clearly didn't enjoy the spectacle, and he shuffled uncomfortably in between Hermione and Seamus. Malfoy took the bottle, eager for his turn; after all he'd missed out on all the action thus far, and gave the bottle a thorough spin, willing it to land on Hermione. But to his dismay, the bottle stopped short, landing on Parvati, who he leant over and pecked gently on the lips, much to Parvati's disappointment, who was clearly expecting more from the reputable Slytherin.

The kiss hadn't been anything special, but nonetheless it had certainly been enough to make Hermione feel ridiculously jealous. Her stomach bubbled with a familiar discomfort – one she'd felt a few years ago seeing Lavendar Brown fawn all over Ron in the Gryffindor common room. But now it was different – stronger, even, although the provocation had been even less. In that moment, she realised she was completely and utterly in love with Draco Malfoy. And even though hexing the bottle wasn't allowed, she had every intention of kissing Malfoy on her next go.

Waiting for Parvati to have to kiss Luna on the cheek was agonising, and Hermione fidgeted, waiting in nervous anticipation for what she intended to do. Then it was Ginny's turn, and to her delight, and Harry's too, the couple finally had an excuse. Ginny turned to Harry and practically threw herself into his lap, as she kissed him feverishly, Harry meeting her with as much enthusiasm, as the kiss turned into a passionate snog, so passionate even, that it went on for longer than was comfortable for the rest of the group to witness. Ron cleared his throat loudly, several times, before Harry and Ginny broke apart guiltily.

"Erm, sorry mate," Harry began, not sounding remotely sorry. "Would you mind terribly if I was to ask your sister out?"

Ron shrugged, "I rather not witness that again, mind," Ron began, "But I guess if there's anyone worthy of my sister it's my best mate, isn't it. And it's not like we didn't all see it coming," he added, to laughs around the circle, even from Pansy and Goyle. "You have my blessing," Ron grinned and Ginny squealed, throwing herself at her brother in a tight hug.

"Aww thanks Ron," Ginny squealed, "Just so you know though, I wouldn't have let you stop me, and if I want something I go get it regardless of whether I have my brother's approval or not. But it certainly makes life easier for everyone involved, if I have it, so cheers."  
Ron shook his head. Everyone laughed, and Harry took up the bottle. Neville. That was easy enough, Harry leant over and quickly kissed Neville on the cheek.

Then it was Seamus' turn, and to everyone's amusement, the bottle landed on Malfoy, who Seamus awkwardly leaned across and had to quickly peck the pale skinned Slytherin on the cheek.

Malfoy watched Hermione unfalteringly, that was until his view was obstructed by a gangly Neville leaning across to kiss Luna, in a passionate but also chaste kiss, the way in which they always did. Hermione took this as her moment to fire a spell at the bottle, and she reached across confidently to give it a spin. The bottle spun, and as it did, time itself seemed to slow. Hermione could feel her blood boiling with anticipation, and her heart beat so loud and fast she was certain McGonagall could hear it from where she slept inside her chambers, on the other side of the school. She gulped as it began to slow, and her eyes never left the bottle as it came to a halt directly in front of Draco Malfoy.

**A/N:**Another cliff-hanger, man aren't I just so mean – Love you! – Beth :) xx


	34. Under Your Spell

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Under Your Spell**

Malfoy's eyes connected with Hermione's; iridescent silver orbs which sparkled with the promise of a tender love, yet spoke volumes, their icy edge dissipating as they filled with a fiery passion, meeting Hermione's own chocolate brown pools which were fuelled with a curious tang which Malfoy hadn't tasted before. Being opposite one another in the circle, they leaned in halfway each, not too fast as if they were savouring the moment, but by no means reluctantly, either.

Hermione pushed a wave of hair that had come loose behind her ear, still having not breathed out. At such a close proximity Malfoy could count the freckles on Hermione's porcelain skin – skin that spoke of summers reading in the shade of a Cherry blossom – and Hermione could smell his Apple scented aftershave that he always wore and she'd come to know like the back of her hand. Time was still going slower than it had every before as Hermione leant further in, and so did Malfoy.

The second their lips brushed, Hermione felt a spark of electricity jump between so – much more than had leapt between them in the kiss she'd planted on his lips this morning – and her whole being felt electrified, as if she could run for a million miles without ever tiring. Their lips entwined heatedly, Malfoy's hand coming up to stroke the soft skin of Hermione's cheek, and Hermione moaned slightly, as her lips parted and Malfoy expertly slid his tongue in, causing Hermione to feel a searing heat wherever he touched her.

Her hand slid up to rest on his chest, and her other hand wound itself in his blonde locks, pulling him closer to her, as if the distance between them was too great and they needed to seal it. Malfoy drew Hermione towards him, his free hand resting at the small of her back, making circular motions with his thumb; and even though Hermione's dress covered her skin, she could feel the heat of his touch through the material. In that one moment, everything that had every troubled Hermione and Malfoy flew out of the window. She felt beautiful; angelic even, raised up in the arms of such a gentle yet firm touch, one that seemed designed solely for her.

Malfoy moaned against her mouth, as her hands grazed his chest through his dress shirt, and the vibrations of his mouth against hers sent a tremor of pleasure coursing through her veins which made her go weak at the knees, making her gland that she wasn't standing.

That one moment, the one that Hermione had no intention of ever breaking, was suddenly shattered as a firm hand on Hermione's should wrenched her apart from the blonde Slytherin, who was breathing heavily, his once porcelain skin flushed with colour, as he glared angrily at whoever had had the audacity to ruin such a perfect moment. Ron Weasley was positively purple with anger, as he glared at Malfoy.

"I think you should take your hands off Hermione," He spat, his voice shaking in the way it always did when he was on the verge of losing it. "And I think you should get the fuck out of here before I kill you, and don't want you going near her, _ever again,_" he added menacingly.

Surprisingly calmly, given Ron's agitated and clearly volatile temperament, Malfoy said, "Oh really, do you now? Because that's funny, it seemed to me that Hermione was enjoying kissing me just as much as I was her."

"You bastard!" Ron roared, lunging at Malfoy and knocking Hermione aside as he threw a lopsided punch at the Seeker, who caught it easily in one hand, and shoved Ron roughly backwards.

"Get off me you prick," Malfoy spat, standing now. "You need to sort out your head mate – she's OVER you, and doesn't want to be with you. Surely her dumping you would have been notice enough? No? Well get it in you thick skull, dipshit, She. Doesn't. Like. You. And with the rate you're going, I'd be surprised if she even wants to be your friend anymore," he snarled in anger.

Hermione stood up, shaking with both anger and exhilaration that had filled her after such a passionate kiss moments before.  
"Is that true, 'Mione?" Ron asked, accusingly.

"Look at yourself Ron," Hermione said, "You're a mess; blinded by what you think is your feelings for me. But you don't like me Ron, because if you had then you'd have treated me a hell of a lot better when we were dating. What you like about me is the familiarity; it's no different from me and Harry, I was the one always there so obviously I seemed like the logical next step in the aftermath of the battle. But you and I were a mistake Ron, and I know that now. You want to be a Quidditch keeper and continue basking in glory for the rest of your life. You want me to settle down into your little plan, popping out redheaded babies as fast as possible, cooking and cleaning for you – but that's not what I WANT!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperatedly.

"Nobody ever asks what I fucking want! But now I know what I want, and it certainly isn't you, so why can't you just accept that?!"

Ron stood in utter shock, staring at the girl he thought he knew. "But I thought you loved me Hermione? After everything we've been through together, how could you take the side of that twat-faced ferret?!"

"Malfoy is _not_ a twat-faced ferret, you twit, he's my _friend¸_ and he's been a hell of a lot better friend to me lately than you have. I never wanted you to be like this, Ron; we're adults now, and I thought you'd be able to be mature and put prejudice behind us. Look at Malfoy – he has changed the most out of all of us, and I _like_ him now. Maybe you should take a leaf out of his book!"

"See if I care," Ron sneered, anger clouding his judgement. "You can go fuck your little ferret boy and see if I care, you filthy little _Mudblood_."

With that last comment, Malfoy, who had been staying silent and allowing Hermione to vent her much needed frustrations at Ron, drew back his fist, and socked the gangly Weasley squarely in the face, blood from his nose spurting all over his white shirt, dribbling down his chin and making Ron look even more crazed. Harry who had been silent the entire outburst, with the help of Blaise and Neville, restrained Ron who made to attack Malfoy again. A string of curse words resounded throughout the Great Hall, and Hermione was surprised the noise hadn't alerted a teacher. But she didn't care about that right now. All she needed was space, to get away. She couldn't stand to look at _him, _of all people, he had to know how that word made her feel.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and as she ran from the hall, struggling to run in her dress, the salty water trickled down her cheeks in torrents, for in all her eighteen years of life, all the times she'd cried over the word that was carved in her arm, a constant reminder of her weakness, it had never hurt her quite this much.

But with one word, one word alone, that Hermione must have heard a thousand times over, Ronald Weasley had done a brilliant job of trampling all over her Gryffindor bravado, and had reduced Hermione to a crying, sad, teenage girl, who needed a comforting pair of arms and a shoulder to lean on more than anything at that moment.

Which was why, once the situation in the Great Hall dissipated and everyone went to bed on a soured note, Malfoy had rushed off as soon as he had picked up Hermione's wand (which she'd left behind) and chased the sobbing Gryffindor back to their chambers.

He'd knocked on her bedroom door and even though she didn't answer, he knew she needed him without her having to ask, and he swung open the door, and in three short strides, folded his arms around her in an embrace which spoke volumes; I'm here, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you like that again, least of all that Ginger prick, and without even hesitating Malfoy placed a chaste kiss on Hermione's forehead and whispered, his voice heavy and shaking with the amount of sheer emotion it contained,

"I'm in love with you, Hermione Jean Granger. And neither Weasley nor anybody else is going to change how I feel about you. I don't know how you feel about things, and I'm not expecting you to say it back to me or anything but I wanted you to know that I'd never hurt you like Weasley has. These past few months you've been like a guardian angel to me, taking me under your wing with no thought over how I've violated you in the past. And that takes an inhuman level of patience and goodness which I've come to really respect about you. I love the way you scrunch up you face in concentration when you're reading the ingredients for a potion. I love the scratch of your quill as you eagerly take notes in History of Magic when everyone else is asleep. I love this one curl of hair that never wants to be managed. I love the glint in your eyes you get when you figure something out, and I love the way you wave your hand like the world is going to end unless the Professor picks you. I love the way the corner of your mouth lifts whenever you receive a single house point, and the no-nonsense attitude you have when it comes to dealing with students out of bed having an after curfew rendezvous. I love the way you looked wearing my towel, the green colouring your skin perfectly, as you looked at me like a child caught doing something they shouldn't. I love the smell of amortentia, because to me it smells like parchment and cinnamon with a hint of musty old libraries, because it reminds me of you. I love the freckles on your nose, and the way you sigh in satisfaction when you finish reading _Hogwarts: A History_ for the gazillionth time. You're the most beautiful, smartest, patient and kind person I have ever met, and I know I'm not perfect but I love _you_, Hermione, I'm under your spell… and I just thought you should know that."

Hermione looked up at Malfoy from where he stood, nervously shifting as he looked into her chocolate orbs, after his admission. She'd never been called beautiful before, and every little thing he'd noticed about her had made her heart leap. As he'd called her beautiful his thumb had traced the hideous scar on her arm and in that one moment she didn't hate it quite as much. It was who she was, and Malfoy loved her for that so why should it bother her, what Ron or anyone else thought.

She didn't think she could rival his confession so she did the only thing she could do; she leaned up on her tiptoes and captured his lips in a kiss that enshrouded the two of them in their own bubble, inflated with happiness and high on the pheromones each of them were emanating. As Malfoy nibbled on her bottom lip, she granted him entrance to her mouth, as his tongue swept over hers, filling her with warmth. She'd never been keen on flying but she was filled with the desire to do this kind of soaring high above the clouds for ever and ever, never wanting to break this perfect moment. She sighed against his mouth as they broke the kiss to breathe.

She kissed his forehead, leaning up on her tiptoes to do so.

"I love the way you raise one eyebrow when you're being condescending, the way you wrinkle your forehead in concentration when you're reading. I love the way your hair falls in your eyes and you push it out of the way for it to fall back in place two seconds later," she added, "I love the way your eyes sparkle whenever you get an answer right in class, and the silent ritual you perform before taking off on your broom."

Malfoy smiled, shocked that she'd noticed the way he always closed his eyes and counted to ten before taking off on his broom before a Quidditch match.

"I love the way you smirk at me when you know I'm right, but I love that you're too stubborn to give in to me a lot of the time. I love the way you seek approval of Slughorn and how you always strive to better yourself. I love your composure, and your ambition. I admire you for knowing what you want, and I love the crunch of apples as you bite into the shiny green apple you always carry in your bag. I love the scent of your aftershave as it fills my synapses, and the sculpture of your chest, like a marble statue that belongs in a temple in Rome. I love your eyes and the way your gaze drifts out of the window when you're thinking. I love that you shared your special place with me, and I love that you think I'm beautiful. I love your dark mark because it's a reminder of how it's always possible to change who we are and what we want. But the only thing I want right now, Draco Malfoy, is you, because I am completely and utterly in love with you," Hermione admitted, looking at him wryly from where she stood looking up at Malfoy's face, where a full grin stretched as opposed to his trademark smirk.

"Well that's good then, isn't it?" Malfoy chuckled, and Hermione giggled as she reached up to press her lips to his, his hand winding around her waist as he pulled her closer, her lips melding with his, fusing with desire and promising a passion that neither of them had felt before. Hermione's hand wound its way into his tousled blonde locks, and her other hand explored his chest, fingers unbuttoning his shirt without conscious thought, as she gave into the way he filled her senses, the way she could think of nothing else, when Draco Malfoy's lips met hers. His fingers traced patterns on her skin as he kissed her tenderly, savouring her and memorising the curvature of her figure, the taste of her lips and the way she looked up at him, completely trusting and adoring, like nothing he'd felt before. And as Hermione slept, her hair fanning out over his chest, tickling him as he breathed in and out, his arm encircled her protectively and he lay there grinning, still love drunk and refusing to go to sleep in fear of waking up and having everything snatched away from him. For nothing good ever happened to Draco Malfoy – he was the bad guy, he was never meant to get the girl but in some bizarre twist of events, he had the best thing that had ever happened to him breathing softly beside him, and he had no intention of giving her up to anyone, ever.

Because Draco Malfoy, to paraphrase a certain Muggle writer, by the name of Stephenie Meyer, was completely and irrevocably in love with Hermione Granger, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do, to change that.

**A/N:**Too much cheese? What do you guys think? All I can say is that it took a lot for me to hold them back. They've both been wanting to do that for_ ageeees_, I can tell you – Beth :) xx


	35. Times Are Changing

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
-

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Times Are Changing**

The next morning Hermione woke up to find she was lying on a sculpted torso, much to her surprise. Then she smiled to herself as the fuzzy memories of the previous evening came back to her, in her hung-over state. She was sure she looked a mess for she hadn't even removed her makeup from the evening's ball, so slipping silently from Malfoy's side, Hermione made her way into the bathroom, chuckling at the sight of her own mascara smudged eyes which gave her especial resemblance to a panda.

Under the torrent of water as she massaged her shampoo into her hair in a furious attempt to get rid of the sheer volume of hairspray she'd used the night before. Her head pounded – and she was regretfully reminded why she didn't make a habit of drinking. The previous evening had been a blur, but judging by the sight of her swollen lips from where she and Malfoy had gotten a touch carried away, the part where Malfoy and herself had declared their feelings for one another had definitely been true.

But how were they supposed to act now, she wondered. Ron's words to her – whether smothered by the effects of booze or not – had stung her, and she couldn't see any of her friends from Gryffindor house reacting positively to a relationship between her and Malfoy. Sighing, she turned the shower off, and wrapped herself in her fluffy burgundy towels, setting about her routine of moisturizing and drying her unruly curls.  
A knock at the bathroom door snapped her out of her reverie, as Malfoy's sleep laced voice called out, "Hurry up, 'Mione," he called, "I need a piss."

Charming. Absolutely charming, Hermione thought to herself. The first thing the man who had recently proclaimed his undying love for her chose "I need a piss" to be the first topic of conversation in their now sober state. For a Malfoy he really needed one or two lessons in elocution, Hermione giggled to herself.

"I'll be two minutes," she called, but when Malfoy threatened to break the door down unless he was given immediate entrance to the bathroom, she hurried to unlock the door. A smirking Malfoy, looking a little rough around the edges, rushed in past Hermione, and took no shame in heading straight for the toilet and having his much needed wee. Delightful.

Hermione averted her vision, seeing as Malfoy didn't want to preserve his own dignity, she took it upon herself to look away. Once the distinguished sound of weeing dwindled into nothing, and the running of the tap stopped after Malfoy had washed his hands, only then would Hermione turn and look at him.

"Morning," she began awkwardly, as Malfoy looked at her, and she began suddenly aware of the fact that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

"Morning," he replied, and he crossed the distance between them, pinning Hermione between the sink and his still bare torso. She looked up at him, as he leant over her, one arm either side of her resting on the marble surface. He was in no hurry to close the short gap between their lips and he seemed to be taking in every single detail of her features before he lowered his lips to hers, in more of an explorative kiss than anything.

The pressure of his lips was warm, and provoked a fuzzy feeling in Hermione's stomach. She couldn't help but grin against his lips, as she parted her mouth slightly and his tongue took this as permission to graze hers in a tender gesture. The kisses they'd shared the night before had been real, she realised thankfully, and a part of her realised she'd been worrying about them being a result of her over active imagination. But they were far from imaginary – as Hermione allowed Malfoy to ravish her lips, trailing kisses down her neck and teasing the sensitive flesh of her colour bone – she became increasingly aware of the effects this exchange was having on Malfoy and his – ahem – manhood. She arched her back instinctively against him and he stopped kissing her, flushed. She lowered her eyes apologetically and he chuckled throatily.

"Damn, Granger," he teased, "I know you want me but I hardly think McGonagall would appreciate if Head Boy and Girl were late to the Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw Quidditch match, do you?"

"Aww shucks," Hermione grinned ruefully, "Do we have to go?"

"Don't tempt me, 'Mione," Malfoy warned. "You know I much rather continue this but alas with great power comes great responsibility," he quoted, taking on a pompous tone.

"Alright, Spiderman," Hermione teased, "I'll go get dressed then. You better hurry up and shower – you look like a hedgehog," Hermione teased, as she ruffled Malfoy's haphazard blonde locks, much to his annoyance.

"Yes, Mum," he moaned, and she smacked him playfully on the arm, leaving him to perform his ablutions as she went to go get dressed.

The duo walked down to the Quidditch pitch in amicable silence – careful not to walk to close to one another and further inspire the rumours among the other students – but every now and then their hands would graze one another, and an electrifying spark would jump between them, causing Hermione to take in deep breath and she struggled to come to terms with the situation between Malfoy and herself. What were they? Because they certainly weren't an official couple – that much was clear from the way in which Malfoy acted around her, now that they were no longer within the privacy of their own dorm – but the kiss they'd shared in the bathroom had spoken of something so much more than the friendship herself and Malfoy had already established.

Reaching inside for some much needed Gryffindor courage, Hermione decided to broach the subject first, clearing her throat in order to get Malfoy's attention.

"Erm," she began nervously, "Draco what are we doing?"

He seemed confused, and he raised an eyebrow, "Going to watch the Quidditch match?" He stated, as if the answer was obvious.

"Oh I know that," she rushed, "I just meant what are _we_ going to do. You know," she gestured in between them, "With last night and this morning… I was sort of wondering where we stood." She rushed her sentences, her words almost tripping over one another to come out.

"Oh." Malfoy said. "I was sort of wondering the same thing, if I'm honest."

"Oh." Said Hermione, not really having that much else to say.

"I'm guessing you don't want to go public with this, judging by Weasley's reaction yesterday," Malfoy guessed, shrugging.

"I suppose that's true," Hermione admitted. If Ron, one of her alleged "closest friends" had resorted to calling her that despicable word – _Mudblood_ – just because she'd shared a particularly heated kiss with Malfoy in a game of "Spin the Bottle", for crying out loud, then she hated to think about his and her other classmates reaction to the idea of her and Malfoy's potential relationship. "So what, then?"

"Shall we keep things on the lowdown for now?" Malfoy asked, only thinking of Hermione, because in all honesty, he didn't have any friends in Slytherin – other than Blaise, who in his own right had already given Draco his blessing – of whom he cared enough about their opinions to change the way he felt about the Gryffindor golden girl.

"That's probably best," Hermione admitted. "So just … friends for now?" She clarified, nervously, not wanting to embarrass herself by getting the wrong end of the stick.

"I've got a better idea," Malfoy grinned cheekily.

"Pray do tell," probed Hermione.

"Well have you ever heard of the term "friends with benefits?" Malfoy asked.

The corners of Hermione's mouth lifted into a smile, "Yes…"

"Well…" Malfoy smirked, "What do you say to putting on a display of tolerance, even friendship, to our classmates. And then let's just say we don't have to worry about preventing any _incidents_ like this morning when we're alone?"

"That sounds good to me," Hermione concluded, and the duo made the final few minutes walk to the Quidditch pitch in amicable silence with secretive grins plastered on their faces to the confusion of everyone they passed.

***

To Hermione's uttermost delight, she discovered that her erratic and highly hilarious friend, Luna, would be commentating the friendly match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Malfoy and herself were sat in the teachers' stand; one elevated slightly higher than all the others, another privilege of their Head Boy-Head Girl roles. Hermione took up her omnioculars and perused the sea of students over in the Gryffindor stand. Immediately she caught sight of Harry and Ginny, who had their arms wrapped around one another. Ron, looking rather bemused at the activities of his best mate and sister, was sitting to their left looking a little put out. Parvati Patil was clamouring for his attention, but he barely seemed focused on her.

Little did Hermione or Malfoy know, but from three rows back, Professor McGonagall and Duxhominem watched with glee as Malfoy shuffled absent mindedly closer to Hermione, for it appeared that their bond was getting undeniably stronger. McGonagall sharply in took her breath as Malfoy's thumb grazed Hermione's thigh once – a fleeting gesture that wasn't meant to be noticed, unless one happened to be looking in that particular vicinity – as she realised that Albus Dumbledore, as per usual, she groaned, was likely to be right. Maybe romance really _was_ on the cards for her favourite student and reformed Slytherin bad-boy. She shook her head to herself, Albus wouldn't shut up about it if he was right, she sighed, as she watched Madam Hooch kick-start the match.

The match proved to be highly entertaining – as friendlies usually were; with neither team were out to get the other, an amusing game of Quidditch ensued. This of course, was furthered by Luna's eccentric comments thrown in every now and then. "Look at Zacharias Smith – he's being chased by a swarm of blubbering winkies!" the blonde girl had exclaimed – and the Hufflepuff's Captain had looked alarmed, momentarily distracted from the game, not noticing as the snitch flashed past him.

"Fifteen points to Hufflepuff," she had groaned dejectedly, not remembering that commentators were meant to be impartial. "I bloody hate it when we lose!" she'd exclaimed, only to cause more laughter around the stands.

Hermione, as ever, was thinking. Having been in charge of organising the Halloween ball – and due to Draco's lack of nightmares of late – thoughts of Bellatrix Lestrange and her possible Horcrux creation had been pushed to the back of the Gryffindors mind. But now, with nothing but the impending Christmas examinations to keep Hermione's brain busy, she found her thoughts returning to the dagger that she knew was hidden in Harry's trunk. With a sneaky glance to make sure Ginny was suitably occupying her raven haired friend over in the Gryffindor stands, she began to formulate a plan. Hermione decided that the longer she left her suspicions to brew, the less likely she would be able to sleep, so making her excuse to Malfoy about needing to use the bathroom, she slipped out of the stands, to a roar as Ravenclaw levelled with Hufflepuffs after a particularly skilful shot.

One never knew how long a Quidditch match would last, as unlike the decidedly easier to follow Muggle sport, football, there was no time frame on the games. Because of this, Hermione hurried quickly up to the castle, knowing that the match could be over at any minute, and Harry and Ginny could return to their common room, to find a highly guilty Hermione snooping amongst Harry's things; a situation that would be difficult for Hermione, a good liar at the best of times, to navigate her way out of. She made her way to the previous Haunt of Moaning Myrtle; where the new chambers were now located. Thankful for her head girl privileges, she slipped into the room knowing she was unlikely to encounter anyone on her way, as the majority of the school had been present at the Quidditch match.

Harry's room was rather messy, Hermione noted, as she picked her way across a sea of socks and discarded robes. Careful not to disturb anything – as Hermione had learnt over the years that whilst it appeared like a dump, Harry knew where everything was in this sea of "organised chaos" as he called it, and would surely notice if she left anything out of place. She reached his trunk, and after a few moments of rummaging around amongst third year textbooks – which he _still_ hadn't sorted, she sighed – and a large portion of dust, Hermione felt something sharp prick her finger. Drawing it out, she noted with distaste that Harry had wrapped the weapon in question in a sock – and whether it was clean or dirty, Hermione didn't quite want to know.

Hermione slipped the dagger – still encased in the sock – into her robes, thankful for the vast number of pockets in them, which made hiding objects such as this rather easy. She picked her way across the sea of Harry's possessions carefully, and slipped out of the Common room swiftly – thankful that she'd avoided any human interaction, which could have led to a stumbled cover story and the possibility of Harry asking awkward questions which she didn't quite want to answer right now.

Hermione _could_ have just asked Harry for the dagger, she mused, but Harry was a questioning sort, and would have surely demanded an explanation. Given that Hermione hadn't even told Malfoy her suspicions yet; least of all gone to Professor McGonagall, she had no intention of telling Harry. His closeness with Ron and the current situation with her and the redhead would only make things uncomfortable, she decided, as the resilient Gryffindor swore to keep it to herself.

Hermione made her way back to the Quidditch pitch, pleased to see that the match was not yet over – and that Ravenclaw were leading seventy points to thirty. Malfoy nodded his head at her in acknowledgement of her return, and Hermione smiled at the blonde boy with what could only be described as fondness. Not too long after her return, the match reached its conclusion as to everyone's surprise, the snitch was caught by the eager new third year Seeker from Hufflepuff, and deafening cheers rose from the yellow clad podium. The Ravenclaws clapped good-naturedly – the match _had _only been a friendly, after all – and Luna huffed as she announced the final score – two hundred and ten points to Hufflepuff in contrast to Ravenclaw's ninety.

Things were changing at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall noted with taste as the team mates shook hands with the opposition, and the students filed out of the stands smiling and chatting happily with other members of different houses. And the change was only just beginning, the Professor smiled knowingly to herself, as she watched with amusement as Draco Malfoy held out a hand to help none other than Hermione down the steep drop at the bottom of the podium's steps.


	36. A Welcome Distraction

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
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**Chapter Thirty-Six: A Welcome Distraction**

The next few weeks at Hogwarts, with the days getting darker faster, and the frosty winter winds a constant reminder of the approaching festivities, left barely any time for Hermione to think about what to do with the borrowed dagger. The eighth years were under immense pressure from all of their teachers to put their heads down and study hard for their first set of exams. No nonsense was tolerated, and instead of the cheer you'd usually hear around Christmas time in the different common rooms, the scratch of quills on parchment and students muttering frantically, trying to remember how to brew a successful batch of Pepper Up potion was a more common sound.

Hermione and Malfoy had little trouble from the students at Hogwarts as they went about their rounds at night – it seemed everyone, even the younger years, were knuckling down and applying themselves to their studies, much to Hermione's happiness. Malfoy however, having never been a big fan of studying – Hermione had discovered that he was annoyingly, one of those people who doesn't even try to succeed, they just do – was agitated and often tried to distract Hermione from the copious amounts of notes she made, as she sat in front of a roaring fire in their shared common room.

First it had been Malfoy's idea to discover where Hermione was ticklish. A good idea in principle, he had thought, as he'd used his expensive eagle quill to tickle Hermione's bare feet, grinning devilishly as he had refused to release her unless she paid him in kisses – not that Hermione thought he drove a particularly hard bargain, though. But the tickling had quickly escalated into much more than childish play fighting, and Hermione found her Transfiguration notes discarded on the floor far more often than she'd have liked, opting instead for extensive make out sessions with Malfoy atop her slender figure, getting more and more confident with one another as the days past.

Once the tickling had stopped, Malfoy had taken up whistling Muggle pop songs – much to Hermione's amusement, as the boy couldn't really carry a tune to save his life – and Hermione took it upon herself to sit on the Slytherin and kiss him into silence, but by the time she'd placated the blonde, her notes held little interest for her, once more, and she'd found them abandoned on the wooden boards, once more, turning to studying the sculpt of Malfoy's chest and the gently slant of his lips, instead.

But in the final throes of her studying period, Hermione had become noticeably stressed out, staying up until the early hours of the mornings, perusing textbooks in order to glean last minute bits of information, which could be crucial in an exam. Draco Malfoy, although kissing Hermione had become his favourite past time, respected the girl and her desire to do well, and he left her to her own devices in the common room most nights, instead using his Head Boy privileges to wander the castle and talk to the resident ghosts, hoping to glean more insight into the topic of death, and reduce his fear of dying in time for the conclusion of their assignment for the Guidance and Counselling Professor. Much to his surprise, he'd developed a comfortable relationship between the Bloody Baron – a ghost who was not only insightful into his project, but who proved to be a good listener, too, as well as having many interesting anecdotes of which he shared with Malfoy.

It was on one of the evenings that Malfoy had a brilliant idea, having left Hermione to study, removing himself from her presence because he knew it was becoming harder to resist her and not give in to their desires (he'd put off sleeping with Hermione up until now because a) he really liked her. A lot. And if they were to sleep together, he thought, he'd want in to be in a relationship and not the casual state of things right now. Plus b) Hermione was far too distracted by her exams and studies to really benefit, right now, he thought, anyway. He could wait; just about he chuckled to himself.)

He'd been walking past the locker rooms on his return to their dormitory, when he'd noticed the red and gold poster that was a new addition to the Quidditch noticeboard. "Gryffindor Squad Try Outs – After Christmas". At first he passed by it without paying it much attention – after all, the Gryffindor team wasn't his, so why should it concern him? But then thoughts of the looming project for Professor Duxhominem crossed his mind, and the Slytherin grinned wickedly to himself as he began formulating a plan, resolving to share his idea with Hermione once the final throes of exams were over and the brunette wasn't quite as distracted. Grinning gleefully to himself – as he was a Slytherin, and any chance to ridicule that stupid git, Ron, who still hadn't resolved things with 'Mione, pleased him – Malfoy had practically skipped back to his dorm.

***  
Hermione was exhausted. Her late nights of studying were taking their toll on her, and she barely had time to think about anything other than the different forms of Quatuor Pedes, the properties of different constellations, incantations for charms, and the different properties of Wolfsbane, much less focus on developing her relationship with Draco.

She knew she was neglecting him – but she couldn't help it; she'd got herself into a routine, eat, study, sleep, exams, eat, study, sleep, and she was getting along on this monotonous routine, fully intending to make it up to Draco once her exams were done. To give him credit, he'd done an excellent job of giving her the space she had so desperately needed, yet lacked the self-restraint to demand when he'd distracted her, and she knew he didn't really mind. After all, exams would only last a further week and a bit, and then the eighth years and the rest of the school would be free to celebrate in the Christmas festivities.

The bell chimed at the front of the Great hall, and there was the frantic scribble as everyone rushed to conclude their Charms essays in the concluding five minutes. Then the shuffle of test papers and scraping of chairs, as the students filed out in exam conditions, everything they'd learnt over the past seven to eight years floating out of their heads the second they left the Great Hall. Chatter broke out immediately in the corridors, and as the last exam concluded, even teachers could be seen to visibly relax. With Christmas drawing nearer and nearer, the castle began its magical transformation, with the grand Christmas trees adorned with golden baubles set up in the great hall; the magic ceiling sending a cascade of snowflakes down, adding to the festive vibe. Students' cheeks and noses were flushed red, telling of snowball fights in the court yard. Mistletoe sprung up in the most unexpected of places, and Hermione had laughed along with the rest of the students when McGonagall had found herself in a compromising position with Professor Slughorn, who hadn't been able to look the students in the eye for weeks after the incident, choosing to stare fascinatedly at the floor, instead.

With the last exam out of the way, even the uptight head girl relaxed considerably, finding smiles stretching across her face without needing prompting – an expression which had been long supressed, exchanged instead for a stubborn look of concentration. The second the exam had done, Hermione had thrown herself at Malfoy with gusto, and the duo had spent every waking moment in one another's company; long blissful nights spent in front of the fire, competitive games of chess, or leisurely strolls around the grounds, careful to avoid the other students to prevent talk. But it was without the distraction of a looming test or exam that Hermione found her mind going to the dagger that was buried at the back of her sock draw.

Malfoy had recently been sleeping fitfully again – as she'd stayed up late reading she had heard him crying out in what seemed like pain, and this deeply troubled her. After a particularly disturbed night sleep, Malfoy had seemed distant the next morning, and even though Hermione had tried broaching it with him, he'd shoved her concern away, dismissing it as "nothing". She knew this was far from the truth, but admitting otherwise would mean admitting he was weak, and Hermione understood that Malfoy of all people didn't like asking for help.

Fingering the obsidian knife thoughtfully, the light glinting harshly off it, Hermione turned the object in her hands. It spoke of obvious class and wealth, but there was something glaringly obvious about it, that just screamed "Bellatrix Lestrange" at the Gryffindor. She didn't really like touching it too much, but the relationship between the puckered scars on Hermione's arm did nothing but prompt her curiosity.

So one cold winter's afternoon, when Hermione had no lessons and Malfoy was nowhere in sight, Hermione made up her mind. Even though she'd told herself she would wait until after Christmas to pursue the Horcrux suspicion, the fitful night's sleep she'd been getting because of Malfoy were taking their toll, and she wanted to satiate her own curiosity, however dark it was, too.

So taking a relatively new CleanSweep 7 from the shared broom store, and wrapping herself tightly in her winter garments, Hermione slid the basilisk tooth she'd pilfered as a memento of the Chamber's events in the final battle – Ron's long overdue kiss, which she shuddered at the memory of – into one pocket, and the dagger, wrapped in Harry's sock still, into the other.

Thankful that the cold meant that very few students were venturing outside at this time of the year, Hermione took to the skies, whooping in glee as she soared high over the frozen black lack, which looked like a scene from a Muggle Christmas card, with its light dusting of snow which reminded Hermione of the icing sugar her mother had used to dust the trademark Granger Gingerbread houses every year before Hermione started Hogwarts. Hermione smiled sadly to herself at the memory – this would be the first Christmas without her parents knowing who she was, after the war, she sighed, picking up her pace as an icy gust nearly knocked her off course due to her lapse in concentration.

Within a few minutes of flying, Hermione landed at her destination, thankful that the flight wasn't too long, or else she suspected that she'd be frozen solid to her broom if she'd flown for much longer. There were already ice crystals in her hair, and as she breathed into her hands to warm them up, she was so preoccupied by her attempts to defrost that she didn't notice the footprints in the fresh snow which indicated that she was not alone in the clearing, as she had hoped. Nor did she hear the creak of the tree bough, over the sounds of her heavy breathing, as she rubbed her hands together frantically. The hooded figure in the tree watched attentively, as Hermione knelt in the snow, taking to objects from the folds within her robes.

From where the figure was sat, in their elevated position in the tree, they could just about make out that Hermione was holding a tooth of some sort – it looked quite dangerous and somehow the figure doubted Hermione had purchased it over the counter with the rest of her Potions supplies, and they squinted furiously to try and work out what the other dark object was in the Gryffindors hand. As Hermione took a deep breath and raised her arm, tooth clenched resolutely in her fist, the figure sharply breathed inwards, as they watched her arm descend, in slow motion almost, as the tooth pierced the darker object.

Hermione was thrown backwards several metres as a blood-curdling scream pierced the crisp silence of the clearing that Malfoy had shown Hermione. Black shadows swum out of the tiny black object, swarming round Hermione as she fell to her knees, clutching at the neck of the girl, wrenching the red and gold scarf even tighter round her neck, choking her. The figure in the trees eyes boggled, but try as they might, they couldn't move, frozen in place.

Hermione's sobs rang through the clearing, as she took long gasps for air, once the scarf was released, and tears ran down her cheeks in steady torrents as the black shapes swarmed round her, whispers carried on the breeze up sounding like murmurs of "_Mudblood"_ and "_worthless bitch"_ as the figure in the tree stiffened. The black shadows span faster and faster around Hermione, in a tornado like formation, the whispers getting louder and louder, until they turned into a manic cackling scream, and Hermione stood, her knees trembling slightly, as once more she raised the basilisk fang and brought it down upon the dagger, the black shadows shattering into a million tiny pieces, as silence fell on the clearing, the only noise that could be heard was Hermione's ragged breathing, and sobs, as the saltwater still cascaded down her cheeks.

The figure in the tree, finally able to move, shifted in their position, the tree branch groaning under the weight, emitting a _creak_ that made Hermione whip her head around.

Her eyes latched onto the hooded figure in the tree, and even from a distance, the blonde lock of hair that slipped out of the hood was enough to distinguish the intruder.

"Draco," breathed Hermione, in a broken whisper, "I can explain," She hurried, noting the look of sheer confusion, anger and fear that flashed across the Slytherin's face, clouding his eyes with an indiscernible emotion as he climbed down from his hiding spot and strode purposefully towards her.

**A/N:** Sorry but this is too good a place to leave it. Looks like Ms Granger's got herself into a bit of a mess. I'd like to see her talk her way out of this one – What do you think? – Beth :) xx


	37. Explanations Are In Order

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.  
**A/N: **This chapter took _so_ _so _much work – recounting the entire plot of the Harry Potter series in like 2000 words? No mean feat I tell you. Hope you like it – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Explanations Are In Order**

The few minutes that it took for Draco Malfoy to climb down from his perch in the tree and cross the clearing might as well have been hours, for it was all Hermione could do but to stand still, wide eyed and full of panic, as she regarded the mix of emotions that flashed across her kind-of boyfriend's face. Anger. Betrayal. Confusion. They were amongst only a few of the things that came to mind, and Hermione wrung her hands in front of her.

Malfoy stopped in front of her, taking her shoulders in his hands roughly, and shaking her, as he demanded an explanation, once he'd regained his voice.

"What on Earth is going on, Hermione?" He demanded, his tone laced with emotion, and sheer panic.

The Gryffindor sighed, and told Malfoy, "I think you should sit down. This is going to take a bit of explaining," she admitted, conjuring up her trademark blue flames, and two chairs which she positioned next to one another in front of the fire. Almost as if a secondary thought, she also conjured a bag of the sticky Muggle marshmallows and some splints, which she set about roasting on the fire, ignoring the look of utter bamboozlement that Malfoy was shooting her.

"This could take a while for me to explain," she admitted, "So I'd appreciate if you kept quiet at first and asked questions when I'm done. Is that OK?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Good," she began, handing Malfoy a toasted stick of marshmallows, which he began to munch absent mindedly. "It all starts many years ago with a boy called Tom Marvolo Riddle," Hermione started, ignoring the gasp from Malfoy as he realised what he'd just witnessed was in some way, as he was about to find out, connected to Lord Voldemort.

"As you know, Tom Marvolo Riddle is now dead. But he was a curious child, taken from an orphanage by Professor Dumbledore himself to begin his studies at Hogwarts, who always had a thirst for knowledge. He was an inquisitive child, obsessed with the notion of power and how one could possess it. He began exploring the Hogwarts library – perusing the shelves looking for things that could aid him in his quest – but soon the normal library wasn't enough for him," Hermione smiled to herself as she thought about the amount of times she herself had had to pay a visit to the restricted section over the years.

"In the restricted section, he chanced across a piece of particularly dark magic called a Horcrux." A look of confusion flitted across Malfoy's face – for he had heard the word before, in whispered conversations between his Aunt Bellatrix and the Dark Lord, over the summer when his family home had been invaded by the presence of evil – but he had no idea what the word meant. Hermione went on to answer his unasked question.

"A Horcrux is a receptacle in which a wizard hides a fragment of their soul; it doesn't have to be an inanimate object – although using a living thing as a Horcrux is risky because of the beings ability to move and think for itself, independently from the implanted fragment of soul," Malfoy's eyes widened as his brain began to make links with his experiences.

"What's the point?" He breathed, curiously, and Hermione shot him a look for interrupting her.

"I'm getting to that," she huffed, annoyed. "The purpose of a Horcrux is to prolong death – one might say incur immortality, of sorts – for whilst the Horcrux is kept safe, the person whose soul resides in the object will continue to exist, even if his or her body is physically destroyed."

"That's how he did it! Stayed alive even though everyone thought he was dead!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I'm guessing that Voldemort made a series of these Horcrux-majjigies, then?" Malfoy guessed, and Hermione nodded, glad that he caught on quicker than most, for this was a tricky subject at the best of times, and she herself had struggled to get her head round it when Harry had first explained it to her.

"Exactly," Hermione confirmed, taking a bite from a marshmallow and swallowing before continuing. "But there's a ritual, if you like, that one must go through in order to create a Horcrux," she explained. "In order to make a Horcrux, the spell-caster must commit murder, either of a witch, wizard or Muggle," she added, "which splits the soul into fragments so that the fragments can be implanted in the chosen objects."

"How do you know all this?" Malfoy demanded, curious to know why it was that Hermione Granger appeared to know _everything_ – much to everyone else's annoyance.

Hermione giggled, "I'm getting to that, be patient!"

"So basically Dumbledore realised that this was what Voldemort had done – torn his soul up into bits and hidden it in various objects in order to make him kind of undefeatable – and this was why he didn't die when the curse he cast at Harry in Godric's Hollow, the night he killed Harry's parents, he was simply reduced to a half human state."

"Dumbledore knew that in order to be able to fully kill Voldemort, all the horcruxes would have to be destroyed without alerting Voldemort that he knew about them. He figured that as seven is a magical number, that was how many objects that would make Voldemort most powerful, and that was how many he would have to hunt down and destroy."

"Voldemort was too weak to exist on his own, so feeding on unicorn blood, he leeched off Professor Quirrel, who Harry destroyed by touching his face in our first year – Harry's mother surrendered herself for Harry and her love was so pure that Voldemort couldn't bear to be touched by it, so he died."

"In our second year," Hermione admitted meekly, regretful that she had to bring up Lucius Malfoy, now that he was dead and Draco's father at that, "Your father slipped Tom's Riddle's diary into Ginny Weasley's cauldron, that day at Diagon Alley," she explained.

"Part of Tom Riddle's soul was trapped in that diary, and when Harry went to rescue Ginny, Voldemort was planning on becoming full bodied once more by draining Ginny's life source and using it for himself. Having realised this, Harry stabbed the diary with a basilisk fang – the monster in the Chamber of Secrets - which he'd just killed. A Horcrux can only be destroyed if it is damaged beyond magical repair – such as by basilisk venom, for which the only cure is rare Phoenix tears; fiend-fyre, or the killing curse," Hermione explained.

Malfoy's eyes widened, as he recalled the incompetent summoning of fiend-fyre by Crabbe in the Room of Requirement during the final battle, and the way they'd thrown Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem into the flames, "So the diadem was a Horcrux, too?"

Hermione nodded, before continuing, "When Cedric Diggory was killed in the graveyard, that night of the Final in the tournament," she explained, "the Dark Lord's servant –"

"Peter Pettigrew," cut in Draco, to Hermione's annoyance.

" – performed a ritual which meant that with Harry's blood, he could have a physical being once more, and with Harry's blood being an ingredient, he was no longer unable to touch Harry. Spirits held off Voldemort long enough for Harry to get back to the portkey and return to Hogwarts with news of Voldemort's return."

"Dumbledore realised that he needed to advance his quest to find the Horcruxes, as Voldemort was getting stronger and stronger. So over the summer holidays he developed the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation dedicated to protecting Harry and the rest of us, whilst standing up to Voldemort and his army."

"He came across a ring which had been in Riddle's family for centuries, and Dumbledore suspected to be a Horcrux. He smashed it with the sword of Gryffindor, which effectively destroyed the piece of Voldemort's soul. But because he'd put it on, it cursed his hand and Dumbledore knew he didn't have much longer to live. He confided in Professor Snape, asking him to kill him because he knew that it would be crucial for later events and that he didn't want you to have to commit murder, which he didn't believe you were capable of, anyway," she added, noting that Malfoy appeared shocked at this revelation.

"Getting increasingly desperate, Dumbledore told Harry about the Horcruxes, and on the night of his demise," she explained, quietly, careful to tread sensitively around Malfoy's involvement in that night, "He'd taken Harry to recover a locket which he believed to be a Horcrux. The recovery was very taxing and Dumbledore was considerably weakened by the experience," she explained, careful to reiterate that the great wizard was already dying from his infected hand. "However in the aftermath, Harry realised that someone under the initials R.A.B had already discovered the locket and sworn to destroy it. We later found out that Sirius Black – Harry's godfather, who was killed by your Aunt, Bellatrix – had a brother called Regulus who intended on destroying the locket, before he was killed."

"We all then left school after it was apparent that Voldemort was back, and the Ministry and Hogwarts had been infiltrated. We went hunting for the remaining horcruxes – no mean feat, I tell you," Hermione boasted, "For we had no idea where to look, as Dumbledore was dead and we had no one to turn to."

"Harry, Ron and myself hunted down the locket – which hadn't been destroyed by the Black brother – which thanks to Mungdungus Fletcher and Kreacher, the Black family houself," she explained, "Just so happened to be in the possession of Dolores Umbridge, who we had to sneak into the Ministry and steal it from," she rushed, rather proud of her involvement.

"After searching for ways to destroy the locket, the Sword of Godric Gryffindor appeared to us in the middle of a forest, and Ron used it to destroy a locket. But then we got caught by snatchers, and taken to Malfoy manor," she breathed. "That bit I doubt I need feel you in on."  
"Once we'd escaped, we worked a plan to get into the Lestrange's vault – your aunt had been frantic when she thought we'd taken the sword out of her vault, so we assumed that Voldemort had entrusted her with part of his soul. We were right – after escaping on dragon back –" Hermione laughed at Malfoy's open mouthed expression before continuing, "We made our way to Hogwarts to get the final Horcrux, which we knew belonged to a Ravenclaw."

"Then of course, we found and destroyed the diadem. Ron and I went to the chamber of secrets," Hermione blushed at the memory, and Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I used basilisk venom to destroy the cup, and then everything else happened so quickly," Hermione rushed, tired of explaining things. "Neville killed Nagini, Voldemort's snake, with the sword of Gryffindor, which had basilisk venom impregnated in the blade and was therefore able to destroy Horcruxes," she added, having realised she'd left that out in her earlier explanation. It turned out that Nagini was the last Horcrux to destroy, because when Voldemort cast Avada Kedavra at Harry, Harry didn't die because instead of killing Harry, Voldemort destroyed part of his own soul which lodged itself inside of Harry the day that he murdered Harry's parents. So really, Voldemort killed himself."

"But the whole point of me telling you this means that hopefully you'll understand what an advantage creating horcruxes holds for dark wizards. When I discovered you were having nightmares about your Aunt, long after she was killed, and piecing that together with the fact that Harry used to get similar dreams about Voldemort, even though he was believed to be dead, that got me thinking. In conjunction with the fact that this scar," Hermione showed Malfoy the scar his Aunt had inflicted on her arm, "should have been remediable," she continued, "I feared that your Aunt, in the path of Voldemort, had gone about making horcruxes."

A look of realisation flashed across Malfoy's face. "So you mean to say that that dagger you just destroyed with that fang was a Horcrux? And Lestrange is still alive?" Panic flared in Malfoy's voice.

"I hate to be the one to say it," Hermione grimaced, "But yes, your Aunt is alive. I have no lead; no idea how many horcruxes she made, and no idea how long it might take before she returns in some form or another. All I know is that I have to go an tell Professor McGonagall –"

"NO!" Malfoy cut her off with a shout.

"What?" Hermione asked, confused as to what objection he could possibly have.

"It's nearly Christmas, 'Mione," he began, " think of it this way; this is the first normal year we've had in the entirety of our school careers and you're planning on barging in and ruining the festivities for everyone, claiming that Bellatrix Lestrange is very much still a threat?! Think of the implications that'd have – no Hogsmeade visits, tighter security, not to mention you'd positively ruin the Longbottoms' family Christmas!" Malfoy vented, and Hermione sat there in shock, surprised at the amount of insight he was providing.

"But what else am I meant to do?" She asked, meekly, "I have no idea what to do, Draco, I'm scared," she admitted.

"Tell you what," he reasoned, "Leave it till after Christmas before getting old McGonagall involved. Between then and now you and me will hunt around for any possible Horcruxes – there's bound to be one at the manor or something that I can get hold of," he reckoned. "But that's all that's going to happen, OK? We're going to relax for now, and enjoy Christmas. The horcruxes aren't going anywhere, and I doubt Bellatrix made as many Horcruxes, anyway. So chill, 'Mione," he instructed, "Everything's going to be fine."

Hermione Granger smiled weakly. She supposed what he was saying made a lot of sense, and now that she'd voiced the secret that had been clawing at her insides for weeks, now, she already felt a hell of a lot better. So without much warning, Hermione Granger stood up and positively launched herself at Draco Malfoy, tipping him backwards in the snow with a loud "oomph", she barely allowed him to recover as she smothered him with kisses.

"I love you," he told her earnestly, "Don't you forget that."

"I love you too," she grinned against his frost bitten lips. "But I'm frozen. I think you need to warm me up," she told him, and he willingly obliged, their lips entwining in a way that sent a searing heat coursing through both their beings, thawing them out before they journeyed back to Hogwarts in time for that evening's meal…


	38. A Welcome Discovery

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and whatever belong to her majesty JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and all its fabulous characters, I seriously doubt I'd be writing FanFiction *sigh*.

**A/N: **Relationships work best when you're not hiding secrets from one another – now Hermione's come clean, what does that hold for Hermione and Malfoy? Christmas is getting closer for the students of Hogwarts, too. Any present ideas? – Beth :) xx  
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**Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Welcome Discovery**

Hermione's confiding in Malfoy with regard to his Aunt's Horcrux spree had only succeeded in bringing the duo even closer than they'd already been growing. It wasn't evident to obtuse Gryffindors – such as Harry, or Ron (who was still ignoring Hermione) – but to the more experienced eyes, who'd had years of picking out budding relationships between the throng of students, it was clear that Hermione and Malfoy's secret relationship was building up into something quite intriguing, promising, even.

In the weeks running up to Christmas, Hermione and the blonde haired Slytherin she'd grown attached to, were spending more and more time in one another's company. Hermione explained this away to her Gryffindor peers as "head boy and girl duties", and no further questions were asked. Ron remained brooding in a corner, refusing to make amends with the Gryffindor golden girl, and Harry accepted Hermione's drifting as just her being busy in the run up to Christmas. He'd probably have cared more anyway, if he wasn't so nearly permanently attached to the face of Ron's younger sister, Ginny. If Hermione's friends were going to be immature and refuse to put their petty house rivalries behind them, well then, she wasn't quite sure that she wanted to be friends with them. Until they grew up a notch, she was perfectly happy spending all her time with the intriguing and complex boy who went by the title Draco Malfoy.

With final exams over, there was only one assignment that loomed ahead; the open ended and outright confusing project assigned to the eighth years by Professor Duxhominem. "Prove you have conquered your greatest fear." Well that was all very well when you said it like that, Hermione had mused late one night in her and Malfoy's shared common room, where she lay with her head on Malfoy's shoulder as he read a book, but how exactly were you meant to go about _doing_ just that? It was all well and good actually conquering a fear – but how were you meant to demonstrate just that to your classmates, much less attain a decent (well only top grade would suffice for Hermione) grade? The problem had been nagging at Hermione for a few days, now, and with only a week until the deadline, she was becoming increasingly anxious.

Her anxiety was clearly translated in her body language, from where she lay with her head on Malfoy's shoulder, tossing and turning in a bid to find comfort. Malfoy sighed loudly, for he was clearly not able to concentrate on the tome in front of him; a direct result of the wriggling girl on the sofa beside him.

"What's bothering you?" He asked, his voiced laced with a concern that was unusual to hear from a Slytherin.

"Homework," Hermione admitted sheepishly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Figures," he smiled lovingly down at the Gryffindor next to him. "Anything I can help with?"

"I was just wondering what exactly it was that we were going to do to prove to Professor Duxhominem that we've conquered our fears. I was thinking I might go to the library and try and find something about conquering fear of death. Maybe I could just do a few laps around the Quidditch pitch on a broom to prove I've conquered my fear of heights?" Hermione spoke quickly, and Malfoy blinked as he took it all in.

"Oh no," Malfoy grinned wickedly, his scheming Slytherin glint frosting over his eyes. "I've got a much better idea for you than that, and I thought we'd teach Weasley a thing or two, whilst we're at it," he grinned, and Hermione's eyebrow quirked with interest.

"Pray do tell?" Hermione demanded, curiously.

"Oh I could tell you, Granger," Malfoy had smirked, "But then I'd have to kill you."

Leaning up she'd kissed the Slytherin tenderly on the lips, her mouth melding with his in their well-practiced dance routine. He moaned against her mouth, granting her tongue the opportunity to tenderly caress his with her own, deepening the kiss as he wound one hand in her unruly curls, as the other one fisted the bunched up cloth of her school sweater, pulling her closer as he did so.

Hermione pulled away and sat up as if nothing had happened, feigning a look of innocence. "What?" She teased, acting like she had no clue as to why Malfoy was staring at her with a look of utter disbelief.

"Don't do that," Malfoy berated her, "There are ways of getting information out of ne, and I do not believe kissing me senseless is one of them."

"Oh but I think it is," Hermione chirped, her hand wandering increasingly higher up Malfoy's leg, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. "If you wish me to continue _that_ little display," she proposed, "Then you'll tell me what exactly it is you plan on having me do for the assignment."

Malfoy sighed, voice full of frustration. "You're insufferable, you know that?" he chided her, half-heartedly. "If you must know, I was thinking we ought to have you try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

Hermione's eyes lit up in surprise. Her? A Quidditch player? The idea alone seemed ridiculous. "But –" she began before Malfoy cut her off.

"That's not all. I thought that to add salt into Weasley's wounds you ought to try out for Keeper. See if Weasley really is as much of a king as he claims to be." Malfoy was grinning wickedly at this point, and a mischievous glint was crossing Hermione's face.

"You really think I'd be able to do it?" She asked, and Malfoy shrugged.

"You're a natural flier," he justified, "I don't see why with a bit of practice you wouldn't be able to do it. And don't tell me you wouldn't just love to wipe that smarmy smile off Weasley's face?"

"Okay. I'll try. But if I'm not any good then I'll settle for just a flight demonstration." Her bartering made Malfoy pause for a moment in thought, before he nodded. "But I suppose your right, Ron's been an utter dick lately, he could do with a bit of payback."

"You sound just like a Slytherin, my dear," Malfoy noted with a look of amusement, "But you're my Slytherin princess no less," he grinned, as his lips met Hermione's once more, and they fell back onto the sofa, all thoughts of homework disbanded.

Hermione woke early the next morning, sunlight streaming into the room. Slipping on her robes, brushing her teeth quietly and gathering her books, she'd made her way to the library for a little light reading. She inhaled deeply, the particles of dust filling her with a sense of delight which only she and the strict librarian, Madame Pince, seemed to feel. Her fingers ran over the books; row on row, shelf on shelf, and came to rest on an especially worn volume that concentrated specifically on potions. Hermione often applied this method of random selection when looking for a new book to read – she found it helped her broaden her mind; otherwise she'd be confined to topics that caught her specific attention, and wouldn't do much reading up on foreign topics.

This caused Hermione to flick open the dusty manuscript with interest, and her fingers traced down the contents page with interest, looking for a starting point. Hermione very rarely opened a book at the beginning, preferring methods of random chapter selection to add variety. Her eyes glanced over the various potion names; they were mainly in Latin, with an English translation alongside. A few sparked her curiosity, but none so much as "_Anima Iterum ~ Life Again ~ Page 236"_. Hermione eagerly flicked to the corresponding page number and began reading.

_**Name:**__ Anima Iterum  
__** Translation:**__ Life Again  
__**Dated:**__ 300BC  
__**Discoverer:**__ Unknown  
__**Nicknames:**__ Revitalisation Draught; The Conqueror_

_**Uses:**__ This ancient draught, surprisingly easy to brew making use of commonplace ingredients has been used over generations as an antidote to "Draught of Living Death"; favoured to the well-known antidote, the Wiggenweld Potion which has complex strings of side effects including periods of daydreams and inability to concentrate after revival. The draught has the ability to waken a person from a magically induced sleep._

_**Conditions of Use: **__Due to the potency of the Living Death potion; the brewer and administrator of the antidote must have no fear of death itself for the antidote to take effect. As a result of this, this potion has been used over the centuries in man's attempt to conquer fear over death, with no side effects other than prolonged sleep of the victim, if the antidote is incorrectly brewed or administered. Further information can be found in Pursuit to Conquer Death by Aldous Juvinate, 1965._

Hermione beamed, her random reading selection of reading material was going to prove more than helpful for her assignment. She hurried over to the library desk, where the steely Madame Pince checked out the tome for the Gryffindor witch with a look of distaste. The librarian hadn't yet come to terms with Hermione's sincere adorations for books, and felt as though she was being played in a large extended prank by the entire student body, which was why she regarded Hermione with such suspicion. Hermione shrugged the librarian's contempt for her off, and hurried back to her dormitory to show Malfoy.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow when Hermione thumped the dusty volume down on the bed next to him, and he regarded the witch with a look of amusement as she bounced up and down on the bed excitably beside him.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" He'd asked with a smirk, looking at Hermione with something which could only be described as fondness.

"I found it!" She shrieked.

"Found what?" Malfoy asked, bemused, "I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific. My legilimency skills aren't as great as everyone assumes," he laughed, causing Hermione to roll her eyes as she flicked to the appropriate page number.

"I found what you can do to prove that you've been able to conquer your fear," she explained, taking on her no nonsense tone that she always did when explaining something vaguely academic. "You see this? The _Anima Iterum _potion? Well it's the antidote to _Draught of Living Death;_ but it only works in reviving the subject if the brewer and administrator have no fear of death. It's really easy to brew, as well," she added.

"It's perfect, don't you think?" Hermione garbled, excitedly.

"So all I have to do is brew this potion, and give it to someone who's taken a potentially life destroying potion and then everything's fine and dandy, up they pop?" Malfoy reiterated, sceptically.

"Exactly. All you'll have to do is give me the antidote and then hopefully I should be fine," Hermione concluded, looking triumphant.

"Hermione," Malfoy began nervously, "You do know that there are people who've been under the influence of _Draught of Living Death _for _years_ because the antidote wasn't spot on? Take Sleeping Beauty, for instance."

"Sleeping beauty is a fairy tale," Hermione chided, before her eyes widened in realisation. "You mean that was real?!" She exclaimed and Malfoy nodded. "Oh. I thought that was just a muggle story adults told their kids to warn them about playing with sewing machines," Hermione admitted sheepishly.

"Anyway," She continued, getting back on track. "The point is, I trust you. It's not hard to brew, and I'm one hundred per cent certain that you've conquered your fear. So really, it shouldn't be a problem. We just have to run it by Professor Duxhominem and everything should be fine."

"You'd put yourself at risk just so that I can do well in an assignment?" Malfoy wondered in amazement.

"Don't be silly," grinned Hermione. "It's a paired assignment – I'm putting myself at risk so that _I _get a decent grade. Nothing to do with you at all, really."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "And there I was thinking that it was because you loved me, silly me," Malfoy teased.

"Oh that too," Hermione added with a cheeky wink, before leaning in to kiss Malfoy into submission.

"You're insufferable," Malfoy grinned against her lips, "You know that?"

"So you keep telling me," Hermione admitted, "And it's getting old. Shut up and kiss me already."

So he did.


	39. Sleeping Beauty & If Looks Could Kill

**Disclaimer:  
** One does not own Harry Potter. I wish. The rights etc belong to her royal highness JK Rowling. The "lutin" however is my invention.

**A/N:** Sorry that it's taken so long to update, I've been shipped off to my grandparents for the week and I haven't got my computer so I'm typing on my sister's laptop that I brought with me, and because I'm not used to it, I'm not as fast. I also have really slow internet connection here, so sorry it seems like a while since I last uploaded. I'd really appreciate feedback on this chapter - only Hermione has to prove she's conquered her fear now. How d'you all think that's going to pan out? Let me know - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Sleeping Beauty  
**

The guidance and counseling class assembled for the first time since they were dismissed to complete their products; seeming nonplussed about the forthcoming examination. Everyone but Hermione appeared cool and collected; but the Gryffindor witch was wringing her hands, a sign of her nervousness. After all, if Malfoy wasn't fully over his fear of dying then Hermione could find herself in the same position as Sleeping Beauty; and she'd lie in slumber until she was finally revitalised… she snapped out of her daydream at the sound of their teacher's voice.

"Morning everybody," the witch exclaimed in a tone that was overly cheerful given the fact the class was about to be assessed to determine their grades. "I hope you have all been busily preparing for your presentations today? Do we have a volunteer to go first or am I going to have to pick somebody?" She demanded, as she peered round the class from above her over-sized spectacles.

Nervously, Neville raised his hand. "Yes, my dear?"

"I'll go first," he announced brazenly, to a few looks of surprise that were shot across the classroom.

"Excellent," Professor Duxhominem smiled warmly at him, "Now what is it that you're afraid of?"

Neville mumbled nervously, "You," and the whole class laughed vivaciously. Professor Duxhominem tutted.

"Now, now," she clucked, "I assure that you have no reason to be afraid of me. How do you suggest that you overcome your fear?"

Neville paused for a moment, as if he was trying to work up the courage to do something. "Could I, erm," he began, and the teacher nodded in encouragement, "Giveyouahug?!" he rushed, yet the whole class heard, and suppressed snickers.

"I'm not sure if that's allowed you see," the teacher explained, "Because of teaching protection codes and some mumbo jumbo like that," then she shook her head. "Whatever, to hell with rules. Come here, then," she instructed, and Neville nervously walked up to the teacher and enveloped her in his embrace; with half of Slytherin house catcalling him and wolf-whistling as he did so. After a few minutes, Neville pulled away looking rather pleased with himself and as if he'd just climbed Mount Everest, instead of hugged a scary teacher. Hermione supressed a chuckle.

Malfoy was stood nervously next to her, fingering his wand and the small vial of potion he'd brewed the previous evening. He would be lying if he wasn't worried; because he was, gut-wrenchingly terrified about what would happen if Hermione didn't wake up from the influence of the Living Death brew.

A cough broke them out of their reverie, "I do believe Mr Malfoy has a complicated plan to demonstrate he has triumphed over his fear of death. Miss Granger is putting herself down to be a test subject here; a very brave action given the house rivalry between Mr Malfoy and her," the teacher noted, shooting pointed looks in various students' directions. "Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger, the floor is all yours. I expect you will want to explain your intentions to the rest of your classmates before you begin," she prompted.

"Ahh, yes," Hermione began nervously as she took to the floor. She took the glass vial containing a purple, thick viscous liquid in it and held it aloft so that everyone could see the gunky substance. "This is _Animera Iterum_," she began to explain. "It'sa potion which has been used over the years as an antidote to "Draught of Living Death". You probably all know about the alternative antidote; the Wiggenweld Potion and the reason this is preferred is because the potion has a complex string of side effects including periods of daydreams and inability to concentrate after revival. This draught has the ability to waken a person from a magically induced sleep. But so what, right?"

Malfoy cut in here, taking the vial from Hermione and continuing her monologue. "Why does that bear any relevance, right? Well the Animera Iterum draught is all well and good," Malfoy smirked, "But it can only be brewed correctly if the brewer has no fear of death. For many years of my life I've been afraid of the afterlife, what comes next after we leave this world. But with Hermione's help, and a series of conversations with the Bloody Baron and some terminally ill patients at St Mungoe's, I believe I've conquered my own fear. With Hermione under the influence of Draught of Living Death, brewed by Professor Slughorn for this very purpose, I will attempt to revive her with my own draught of "Animera Iterum"."

There were gasps of realisation across the room as the students realised how potentially dangerous this could be; for if Malfoy's potion didn't work then there could be a very long sleep which the Gryffindor Golden Girl could encounter. She could miss many hours of study, as well as Christmas, so it was really a significant sacrifice which the witch had made. Hermione was really putting everything on the line in the hope that she and Malfoy would attain a decent grade in this lesson that was a new addition to the curriculum.

Hermione nervously took a gulp of the tar like potion that they'd all attempted to make in their sixth year, and only Harry had succeeded (with the help of the Half-Blood Prince's book, of course. She doubted he'd have been able to get beyond the first step without it going wrong, otherwise.) Within seconds, she fell into a deep slumber, and she swayed where she was standing. Malfoy, thankfully, due to years of playing Quidditch, had sharp reflexes, and caught Hermione in his arms before she could fall to the floor. He stood awkwardly holding her bridal fashion that was until a bemused Professor Duxhominem cleared her desk with a wave of her wand, so that Malfoy could lay the sleeping Gryffindor down.

A hand shot up across the room. No surprises, it belonged to a Ravenclaw; they always had been nearly as inquisitive as Hermione. "Yes?" Malfoy asked a hint of nerves apparent in his voice as he spoke.

"What happens if she doesn't wake up?" The girl asked innocently, but really she was staring pointedly at Malfoy. He suspected that many of his classmates were probably expecting to bump Hermione off and claim it was an accident…. None of them knew about the budding relationship between Hermione and himself; and he suspected that if they did then they wouldn't take too kindly too it, either.

"Err," Malfoy began, but he was rescued by the Professor.

"I am sure Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger are fully aware of the consequences if they do not succeed here today. However let us address that as a problem if we come to it; it would do you all good to have a bit more faith in one another's abilities," the Professor bossed.

The Ravenclaw student in question retreated into the corner where she had been standing, embarrassed to be chided by the teacher.

Malfoy leant over and tipped a spoonful of the vibrant purple liquid into Hermione's mouth. Everyone sat with baited breath, waiting for Hermione's eyes to fly open and her to sit up and beam, yawn, even, after waking from a deep slumber.

Nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Hermione lay on the desk, her chest rising and falling slowly, as if she was in a deep, unawake-able sleep.

Malfoy ran his hands through his haphazard blonde locks nervously. This wasn't meant to happen. What had gone wrong?! He threw a desperate look in Professor Duxhominem's direction who instead of looking concerned, as she probably should have been, given the situation, she had an eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"My dear boy," the Professor chuckled, "Please tells me you are familiar with the tale of Sleeping Beauty?"

Malfoy nodded, confused as to what this had to do with the situation in which an unmoving Hermione was currently splayed across their teacher's desk.

"Please feel free to recount the story for us," the Professor chuckled, "I don't think Miss Granger here is going to be waking up anytime soon." She giggled, but she was the only one. The rest of the class were in a mixture of shock and worry.

"Erm," Began Malfoy nervously, as his eyes kept darting back to Hermione, wandering if she'd woken up yet. "Well… Once upon a time there was a powerful witch with dark raven curls who had a beautiful baby daughter. She asked all the fairies and magical creatures to the christening; gnomes, pixies and faeries. She made a grave mistake, however, because she didn't invite the Lutin; a mischievous pixie with potent magical powers.

The Lutin attended the christening, nonetheless, and as she passed the baby's cradle announced, but unfortunately forgot to invite one of them, who was a bit of a witch as well. She came anyway, but as she passed the baby's cradle, she said:

"When you are eighteen you will fall into a deep, deep slumber with the help of a special draught, and nobody but I and a Prince from a faraway land shall be able to save you."

The years went by; the little girl grew and became the most beautiful girl. She had dark curly tresses and large brown eyes filled with knowledge and understanding, and a love for the world around her. Her mother was always very careful to keep her away from suspicious looking substances, but the Princess, on her eighteenth birthday, went out with some friends and had a little bit too much to drink. She was handed cup after cup of lukewarm beer; but one of the cups was filled with a dark black liquid that had a bitter tang, and before she knew it, the witch's child had fallen into a deep and seemingly irreversible sleep.

A kind barman dropped the young girl back home, assuming that she'd had too much to drink. But the witch recognized the signs displayed by her daughter, and laid her to rest on a four poster bed as she pondered what to do. She was a wealthy witch, and put out an advertisement stating that anyone who was able to rouse her daughter from her dreaming state would be given a small fortune; but alas, nobody could do anything to wake the young girl up.

Some of the good fairies that had been present when the Lutin had prophesised the baby's future had done their best to reverse the sleep, but had failed. Desperately the mother asked,

"When will my daughter waken?"

"I don't know," the fairy admitted sadly.

"In a year's time, ten years or twenty?" the witch asked, getting more and more hysterical

"Maybe in a hundred years' time. Who knows?" said the fairy, tentatively.

"Oh! Is there not _anything_ that would make her waken?" asked the witch, weeping into a silken handkerchief.

"Love," replied the fairy resolutely. "If a wizard of cool demeanor, good intention and pure heart were to fall in love with her, that would bring her back into this world."

"How on earth would a wizard, if such a man exists, fall in love with a sleeping girl?" sobbed the Witch, and so heart-broken was she that, a few days later, she died. The sleeping Princess was taken to her room and laid on the bed surrounded by garlands of flowers. She was so beautiful, with a sweet face, not like those of the dead, but pink like those who are sleeping peacefully.

The good fairy contemplated the witch's question for a few moments. "What if the wizard had already fallen in love with her, prior to the slumber?" She asked pensively.

"Oh, do you think that would work?" The witch exclaimed, desperately. And with a nod from the fairy, a notice was put out to all the warlocks and wizards from the young girl's childhood. Perhaps one of them harboured feelings for the girl that would rouse her from her deep sleep. The witch sighed, she hoped so at least.

The months sped past. In the castle grounds, the trees grew taller. The bushes became thick and straggling, the grass invaded the courtyards and the creepers spread up the walls. Many young wizards and warlocks did their best to waken the girl from her slumber, but to no avail. Until one day, a wizard returned from distant lands wearing a dark green riding cloak.

He had blonde flowing locks and a knowing look in his eyes. He knew the inhabitants of the mansion once upon a time; he had used to play ball with the girl that lived here. Deciding to pay her a visit, he knocked on the door to find her grief stricken mother, who had explained her daughter's predicament whilst sobbing desperately on the young wizard's green cloak.

The young wizard was directed to the sleeping girl's chambers, and he felt drawn to them as if there was an invisible hand pulling on his robes and tugging him forward. As soon as he came across the sleeping girl, he was overcome with a wave of emotion, and wanting to wake her from this horrid slumber, he fumbled in his bag. He had come across a strange potion in a foreign land, and wiping some on his lips; he leant down and kissed her softly on the mouth. Within moments, her eyelids fluttered open and she woke –" Malfoy's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Professor Duxhominem intended to happen with his recounting of the tale he'd been told time and time again, as a young child growing up at Malfoy Manor.

He had often likened himself to the young wizard; with his blonde hair and Slytherin robes it seemed only too fitting… but to imply that he ought to kiss Granger to wake her, in front of _all _their classmates… surely no teacher would condone that kind of behaviour? What would Hermione think, if he did manage to wake her?

His thoughts were interrupted with a shrill cackle as Pansy Parkinson shrieked, "Oh brilliant, Draco you have to kiss the Mudblood if you want her to wake up and pass the exam," there was laughter across the room, but then everyone went quiet as they realized the implications of this. Would Malfoy be able to put behind his blood differences with the Gryffindor golden girl? How would Hermione react if she woke up to find Malfoy had kissed her? One thing was for certain; Ron was the colour of puce, and Harry was clenching his fists threateningly.

"What are you waiting for, Mr. Malfoy?" an innocent sounding Professor Duxhominem probed. Malfoy shot her an evil look; there had been nothing about a kiss being the way to administer the potion in the book Hermione had showed him. If the teacher had known this all along, then why was it she hadn't informed the duo of the implications of their demonstrations? This could go one of two ways, Malfoy sighed, as he brushed some of the purple potion across his lips. It tasted like Parma Violets; he chuckled, as he recalled the muggle sweets that he'd chanced upon over the summer.

There were gasps of shock across the classroom as they all realized his intention. In one clean, fluid motion, Malfoy bent down and pressed his lips gently to those of the girl's he'd become so familiarly acquainted with over the past few weeks.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and her eyes widened with shock as she realized that Malfoy was kissing her. But instead of pushing him off her and spitting disgustedly, like the Hermione of old might have done, she found her arm winding around her neck, drawing him closer to her as she kissed him heatedly, and he returned the gesture. The class stared on in shock, as did their Professor, until she finally gathered her wits and cleared her throat.

"Hem, hem?" The teacher coughed in a tone not dissimilar to their late Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge.

Malfoy and Hermione broke apart, like two rabbits caught in the headlights. "Sorry, Professor," Malfoy conceded, sheepishly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the class.

"Not at all, Mr Malfoy," the teacher smiled. "We can all be consumed by our desires at the best of times." Hermione's cheeks tinged pink. "Needless to say that was an excellent display of both intellect and of course, you conquering your fear. I hope whatever Miss Granger has planned will rival that, and I can award you both, close to, if not full, marks."

Hermione grinned, before meeting the eyes of Harry and Ron across the room. If looks could kill, she mused….


	40. What is the World Coming To?

**A/N:** So here's another chapter... it's the shortest yet but at the same time I didn't think it fit well with my plans for the next chapter, besides it's something you've all been waiting to happen for sometime now. But will everything be golden for the most controversial couple? It's taken me a while to update because although I've got every chapter of this fic mapped out, I've been struggling with lack of motivation [form of writer's block] to get it written and uploaded. I'm terribly sorry, and I'm trying to overcome it so I can finish this fic, promise. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter - let me know what you think - Beth :) xx**  
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**Chapter Forty: What is the world coming to?**

Hermione woke up early that morning, her heart pounding in her chest as she remembered just what it was she was going to attempt to do today. Her nerves weren't calmed by the fact that she'd had a horrific night's sleep, no thanks to Malfoy and the fact that he'd snogged her senseless in front of their _entire_Guidance and Counselling class; Harry, Ron, Slytherins and all. She would never hear the end of it, and it didn't look like Malfoy was going to take the blame for it either. As far as everyone had seen, Hermione had thrown herself into what had been a rather chaste gesture from Malfoy, causing him to react in a way that any teenage boy would, were they put in the situation. He hadn't made any effort to quell the rumours; instead he'd retreated into a silent bubble that was doing nothing but piss off the Gryffindor golden girl.

She breathed in deeply, trying to calm and prepare herself for the conclusion to her and Malfoy's assignment. Today it was her turn, and it was going to go one of two ways. This could either go down terribly well and she would earn herself a great reputation across the school and everyone would forget about yesterday's incident, or she'd make an absolute fool of herself, and render herself laughing stock. Not that she wasn't already, she sighed bitterly. No wonder her mouth was dry and her throat raspy, she thought, it wasn't nice having such a big weight on your shoulders, especially when you're the one who put it there, she told herself.

She made her way into the bathroom, noting that Malfoy was already sitting in the common room that the two of them shared, seeming distant and out of focus. She didn't bother him, merely locking herself in the bathroom, dousing her face with cold water in an attempt to wake herself up, and performed a de-frizzing spell on her hair, not that it had much effect, of course. It seemed that the wiry hair Hermione inherited from her Dad's side of the family was resistant to most charms she tried to hurl at it.

"Morning," Hermione began timidly as she made her way over to join Malfoy on the sofa.

He raised his head in acknowledgement to her, and then drifted back into staring into space. He'd barely spoken to her after the events of their Guidance and Counselling lesson the previous day. The rest of the previous day had been awful. Everywhere Hermione had turned resulted in the Gryffindor witch being met with stares of loathing, confusion and shock. It wasn't every day that bitter house rivals engaged in a passionate make out session in the middle of a lesson, after all.

Malfoy had retreated into his thoughtful bubble nearly as soon as the class had ended, and Hermione hadn't got more than a few words out of him. It seemed to Hermione's now rather bruised ego that he had been fine with locking lips in the private confinement of their chambers, but the second people found out about it, he wasn't so keen on the idea. Hermione sighed.

She hadn't had the best of luck over the years in the relationship department, she thought sadly to herself. First with Viktor Krum, who she doubted had ever bothered actually pronouncing her name properly; he'd been more concerned with sticking his tongue down her throat. Then there was Ron, her alleged best friend who she wasn't even speaking to, right now. He had been a bad idea, a heat of the moment thing in the middle of a battle where two sexually frustrated teenagers had thought they were about to die. But still here, and regretting the impulsive decisions she'd made over the years, Hermione was now regretting ever putting her heart on the line for the blonde in front of her.

He clearly had no regard for the way she felt after the events of the previous day. He didn't care if she was met with dirty looks every time she walked down the corridor, or if the teachers were bound to gossip the second the bell had rung for lunch. He was just another boy and she was just another casualty with a dull ache in her chest as she tried to ignore the way she was feeling right then.

"You coming along to the try-outs?" She asked, conversationally, even though he had to be there in order for her to pass the assignment, anyway.

He looked up at her, with a look in his eyes that spelt out nervousness, yet mixed with determination.

"Hermione," he began, and the Prince of Slytherin wrung his hands nervously, "I haven't done this before, in fact this whole things completely new to me so I'm hoping you'll understand and go easy on me. I know I'm not perfect, but let's face it, nobody but you really is. I'm stubborn, sensitive and quick to jump to conclusions, but I'm completely and utterly in love with you, to the point when I can't see anyone else but you and me. I'm sick of caring what people think of me; instead I want to start caring more about how I feel. And right now I feel like nothing in the entire world would mean more to me than if you said yes to this question…Will you be my girlfriend?"

Hermione's eyes shot open wide in complete and utter shock. Draco Malfoy wanted her to be his girlfriend?

"You mean like girlfriend in the sense that everyone knows about us?" She clarified, nervously, as she licked her lips.

"Yeah," he agreed, "Given the display we gave everyone yesterday it's probably for the best, don't you think? And I love you Hermione, I really do. I don't care if Weasel's got a problem with that, but if he has he can say it to my face and I'll give him what for. So what d'you think?"

"Oh you silly ferret," Hermione sighed as she jumped into the blonde's lap, "I'd like nothing more than to be your girlfriend," she sighed, pressing a tender kiss against his lips.

But Malfoy wasn't having any of that, and immediately his hand was on the small of her back, drawing her flush against him as his other hand cupped her face tenderly as he was granted entrance to her mouth, where he caressed her tongue gently with his own. Her moans against his mouth pretty soon had Malfoy going wild with desire as they sank further into the sofa, their kisses getting more frantic and desperate, all thoughts of Quidditch try-outs forgotten. Hermione Granger had a _boyfriend_, and no one other than Draco Malfoy, at that. What on earth was the world coming to?


	41. Granger Is Our Queen

**A/N: **So Hermione's finally proving her point, and settling a few scores. She even gets one of her friends back in the process - all in all not a bad day for the Gryffindor. Let me know what you think - and where do you think Malfoy should take his new girlfriend for their celebratory dinner? ;D - Beth :) xx

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**Chapter Forty One: Granger Is Our Queen**

Hermione, after the revelations on the common room couch that morning, was feeling surprisingly confident as she slipped into some of the Quidditch gear she'd borrowed off Malfoy. She realised that wearing a Slytherin green cloak would likely cause a massacre – especially when trying out for the Gryffindor team, so she omitted that part of the uniform, borrowing instead his black shin guards and gloves. She'd borrowed his broomstick for the occasion, as well, for which she was thankful for it was a lot faster than any of the spare brooms that the school routinely leant out to students on such occasions.

"You'll be fine," Smiled Malfoy as he nuzzled her neck. Her boyfriend, nuzzling her neck. The whole concept of dating Draco Malfoy was still a little foreign to the Gryffindor golden girl, and she suspected it would take a while to get used to.

"I hope so," she admitted, fixing her brown hair in a practical pony tail, fixing the unruly strands with bobby pins to prevent it from obstructing her vision. The plan was in place; she'd arranged for Professor Duxhominem to schedule a meeting on the Quidditch pitch at the time of the try-outs. The Guidance teacher had been somewhat impressed when the Gryffindor had disclosed her plan – and she agreed to gather the class for her assessment.

The pitch was a flurry of activity when Hermione eventually got down there. Malfoy ambled over to the assembled group of students, and nodded in acknowledgement at their professor, who was regarding him with curiosity. Several Gryffindors of varying enthusiasm were sat on benches in the stands, waiting to be called up for trials. Harry strode onto the pitch – for McGonagall had reinstated his position as captain, as he returned for another year. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had never been as successful as it had been under his direction. Harry unfurled the scroll, and with a voice enhancing charm, started bellowing orders.

"Can I have all second years up first please," he shouted, and a couple of timid looking students – one male and female, both of whom Hermione didn't recognise, stood up and made their way onto the pitch.

Harry made them complete a series of navigational exercises, and seeing how unsteady they were on their brooms, dismissed them almost immediately, but with a reassuring, "Maybe you'll make the team next year." Hermione smiled, trust Harry to be diplomatic about this. This was his field – one in which she could never fully compete.

As the try outs progressed, and the positions of Chaser and one beater were filled – by Ginny and a blonde boy Hermione wasn't familiar with, Hermione could see Harry beginning to lose patience – people who clearly had no aptitude for the sport were insisting on trying out, and consequently wasting everyone's time, including their own.

"Can all students trying out for Keeper make their way down to the pitch, please," ordered an exasperated Harry. Hermione grinned secretively to herself as she picked up Malfoy's loaned broomstick, and made her way down onto the grassy field, to the shock of the majority of her peers.

Only Malfoy and Professor Duxhominem seemed amused, regarding the events with interest and a subtle smirk.

When Hermione reached Harry, she noted that he was staring wide eyed at her. "Hermione?" He asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Yes Captain?" Grinned Hermione.

"What are you doing?" He asked, getting angry and thinking she was wasting his time.

"What does it look like?" She asked, sounding unintentionally cheeky. She had expected this kind of reaction. "I'm trying out for keeper. As part of my Guidance and Counselling project I've learnt to conquer my fear of heights, ride a broomstick, and play the position of keeper. And I'd like to try out for the team," she announced calmly.

She turned to regard Ron, who was staring her in a combination of amazement, disgruntlement, and sheer shock, his mouth wide open. She shot him a sarcastic smile. "Careful Ronald," she warned, "You'll catch flies." Ron's mouth abruptly snapped shut, and he glared at her.

Harry looked flustered, torn between his loyalty to both his two friends, "Right, well, erm." He sighed. "Ron first, I guess?"

An impartial volunteer from Ravenclaw – their chaser – had been selected to shoot shots at the Keeper try-outs for the Gryffindor team. After one spectacular miss – in which the ball went through the first hoop, as Ron dived for the third – three relatively good saves where he simply rebounded the ball, and two where he caught the Quaffle outright, Ron landed and dusted his hands, seeming pleased with his performance.

Malfoy was crossing his fingers, hidden in the folds of his arms, and praying that Hermione would be able to pull it off. His _girlfriend_. Merlin, that sounded strange he chuckled to himself. He'd never really had a girlfriend before – this was an entirely bizarre concept, he thought, as he watched his Gryffindor princess confidently take to the skies astride his broomstick.

There were whispers amongst the students, as everybody recognised the familiar Nimbus 2001 – belonging to none other than the blonde haired Slytherin stood in their midst. Professor Duxhominem tutted, shushing everyone, not wanting the chatter to put Hermione off her try-out.

The Ravenclaw chaser – a boy with shaggy brown hair that looked as if he could be related to the late Cedric Diggory – smiled amicably as he shot the Quaffle towards her at an alarming pace.

Without so much as blinking, Hermione shot to the left, and caught the Quaffle firmly in both hands. She lobbed it back to the Ravenclaw – who she vaguely remembered was called Dom.

A second shot, and Hermione went spiralling upwards, catching it under one arm as the chaser aimed for the tallest and most central of the hoops. There were cheers below her, and Hermione found herself supressing a grin. It wasn't over yet, but if she could just keep her composure then she might just do it – get the edge over Ron.

A third shot to her right, and Hermione caught it at the last moment, it nearly slipping out her grip. She breathed deeply as she threw it back to Dom, hoping to compose herself.

A few metres away, hovering on the air on his broom, the Gryffindor Captain was regarding his friend with a look of sheer confusion and admiration at the same time. If she caught these next two shots as well as she had the first two, then he would have no choice but to award her the spot on the team over Ron. He gulped nervously, regretting the fact that he was the decision maker.

Dom shot Hermione a particularly nasty curveball – it swung left towards the outside hoop at the last moment; but in a show of steely calm, Hermione dived for it, and caught it spectacularly, performing somewhat of a somersault as she did so. There were cheers below from the assembled students, and an impressed smile on the faces of Professor Duxhominem, and Professor McGonagall who was watching the proceedings from her office window, just like she had been the first time that Harry took to the skies. Hermione smiled to herself – she had it in the back, just one more shot, she reassured herself, as she aligned herself centrally for the fifth and final shot.

The Quaffle came towards her at ferocious pace, slap bang towards her, and she emitted an almighty "oomph" as it barraged her in the stomach. She grasped it with the hand that wasn't steady on the broomstick, and grinned triumphantly as a deafening roar was uttered from her peers below. A familiar redhead, Hermione noticed, had just stormed off the pitch as was tearing his way back up to the castle, fists clenched at his sides. Harry shot a worried look in the direction on Ron, before flying over to Hermione and giving her an almightly clap on the back.

She grinned. "Whaddya think?"

"Looks like you're on the team, 'Mi," Harry grinned. "Didn't know you had it in you," he chuckled, amicably. "We alright again?"

"Sure," Hermione grinned as she hugged her raven-haired friend. She leant towards him conspirationally, "If I'm honest, neither did I." Harry chuckled, clapping the brunette on the back.

Harry had never really been one to hold grudges and she expected he wouldn't be _too_angry when it came to explaining the fact that she was currently dating none other than Draco Malfoy. Ron would be slightly trickier, she mused, as she'd just nicked his spot on the team. She could see a beaming blonde in the midst of her peers, as she clambered off her broom and was swamped with hugs and calls of, "Congratulations, Hermione!" As expected, it seemed everyone had forgotten about the Sleeping Beauty incident of the previous day.

Professor Duxhominem pushed her way through the throng of students, "Yes, well done Miss Granger, very impressive. It's my pleasure to award Mr Malfoy and yourself full marks, for you showed excellent use of intellect as well as creativity in your assignment presentation, and you have overcome prejudice in the meantime. Your fellow students would do well to take notice of your maturity. Fifty house points to you both."

Hermione grinned, and Malfoy beamed as she jumped into his arms, throwing her arms round his neck. "I did it!"

"I knew you had it in you," Malfoy grinned, "I've got faith in you, 'Mione."

There was an "aww" in the crowd which sounded suspiciously like it came from Lavendar Brown or one of the Patil sisters. There were outward gasps as Malfoy lowered his lips to Hermione's in a sweet and gentle gesture.

Okay so maybe the events of the previous day's lesson weren't _entirely_forgotten, admitted Hermione as she leant into Malfoy's embrace.

But the funny thing was, she didn't even care as she smiled against his lips. Malfoy broke the kiss, in order to ask Hermione out for a celebration dinner. She grinned her approval, and returned her lips to his.

Slowly but surely, whilst they had been shocked at first; her classmates began to let out encouraging cat calls, and a few of them even began to applaud. Neville let out a long and loud wolf-whistle, and as Hermione and Malfoy broke apart, everyone laughed.

Professor Duxhominem smiled fondly at the students, before her eyes met the amused gaze of Professor McGonagall, stood at her study window. The elderly witch had a mischievous yet triumphant glint to her eyes - it seemed her plan had worked.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled as the Transfiguration teacher described the scene in front of her to him, from where his painting hung on the wall. He chuckled merrily to himself, shaking his head. "What did I tell you, Minerva," he chided amicably. Professor Snape groaned, and his portrait self, hung his head in his hands.

Whatever was the world coming to?

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**A/N:** Wise old Dumbledore, eh, seems he never doubted the power of Dramione ;D Reviews would be lovely! - Beth :) xx


	42. Interuptions

**A/N: **So I've been struggling with this a Fic a little, and there's still a while to go yet. I've suddenly changed my plan in the hope of getting more inspired - so bear with me. Feedback, as always, is appreciated - Beth :) xx

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**Chapter Forty Two: Interuptions**

"There's no way that you're wearing that," Malfoy announced as Hermione finally emerged from their shared bathroom, wearing a mid-thigh length blue dress. Her hair was up in a messy up-do, tendrils falling out and framing her delicate features.

"And why's that?" Quipped Hermione, as she picked up her purse from the table in the centre of the room. She'd cleared it with Professor McGonagall – exercising both her eighth year and Head Girl privileges, and tonight Malfoy was taking her by Floo network for a celebratory dinner. The thing they were celebrating just so happened to be her newly acquired position on the Gryffindor Quidditch squad – not something that had been anticipated, by anyone's standards.

The Gryffindor head of house had been delighted to hear that her favourite student had made the Gryffindor team – and Hermione suspected it was something to do with there never having been a female keeper before. It certainly seemed like things were changing at Hogwarts, Hermione mused, as the headmistress smiled as Hermione disclosed her and Malfoy's plans for dinner.

Instead of being suspicious of the ex deatheater, like she perhaps should have been, McGonagall had smiled fondly at the couple, telling them they had to be back before midnight – and had even managed a small smile when Malfoy had joked that otherwise they would turn into pumpkins, just like Cinderella – and she'd told them to have a good time and enjoy themselves.

It really was quite curious.

"Because," grinned Malfoy as he planted a chaste kiss on the brunette's cheek, "Couldn't possibly be seen in public with someone more attractive than me, now, could I?" He grinned, "Do you have any idea how mortifying that would be?"

"Oh shut up," groaned Hermione, walloping the Slytherin with her clutch. "Where are we even going, anyway?" She asked, genuinely curious, for until now, the location of the restaurant remained undisclosed.

For all she knew, Hermione could be being taking to London, Peru, Australia or China. She had no idea.

Malfoy tapped the side of his nose in the annoying fashion that someone does when they have a secret. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," he grinned, prompting Hermione to roll her eyes. Her boyfriend really was insufferable, sometimes.

"Come on, _Bella," _Malfoy smiled genuinely, it reaching his eyes as he did so, as he took Hermione's hand in his own.

They walked down the corridors with one another – careful to avoid the busy corridors on the way to McGonagall's office, the last thing they needed to do was prompt any more rumours.

_"Bella_, eh?" Hermione thought pensively, "Hey isn't that Italian?"

Malfoy shot her a sideways glance, almost looking astonished.

"We're not going to Italy, are we, Draco?" She beamed, innocently. He rolled his eyes.

"Why must you be such a god damn know it all, Granger," he sighed as he slung his arm around her waist. "Yes, we are, well done for spoiling the surprise." He seemed somewhat put out, and Hermione resolved to make it up to him, giving him a little surprise of her own as she shoved him into an alcove.

Her lips were on his before he could ask her what she was doing, but he responded with just as much enthusiasm as her.

Malfoy's hands gently took to either side of Hermione's face, tilting her head up so that she was forced to look into his ardent, determined eyes, glazed with desire.

His hair was mussed up even before his mouth swooped onto hers, kissing her violently. Briefly their teeth clashed, and within seconds, their tongues – undulating with desire – entwined in one another's mouth.

Desire ricochetedthrough the two figures in the darkened alcove, exploding like a million fireworks on the Fourth of July. Breathing heavily, Hermione matched the frantic pace that the blonde had set, competing with his fervour as her hands knotted into his blonde locks, desperate to get closer to him.

Malfoy groaned, the low sexy sound reverberating through Hermione, as his hands slid involuntarily down her dress clad figure, fingers tracing delicate patterns on her porcelain skin.

She broke off the kiss, panting slightly; her eyes alight with desire, her blood heated and pounding through her body at an alarming rate. Her mouth was slack as she tried to drag precious air into her lungs. Nobody had ever had quite that effect on her, and in shock, she stepped out of the alcove, righting her dress, and doing her best to fix her hair.

Malfoy grinned sheepishly, "Don't take advantage of your poor defensive boyfriend in a darkened alcove, 'Mione," he teased, "Next time he might not be able to help having his way with you," the grin widened. Hermione gulped as colour came to her cheeks, quite certain that she wouldn't exactly mind that.

"To Italy?" He asked, amused, at the flush that had crossed his girlfriend's face.

"We could just go back to the common room…" she trailed off, a hungry look in her eye, Malfoy suspected – _not _for food. His eyebrows shot up in shock.

"And waste such a fantastic opportunity?" He grinned, "I don't think so. Besides you'll need some stamina if you're to keep up with me," he grinned devilishly, and Hermione rolled her eyes, placing her hand in his as he offered it to her.

McGonagall's office was empty, aside from the regal portraits that hung on the wall. Both Snape and Dumbledore acknowledged the couple's presence, nodding politely, the latter with a twinkle in her eye. As the green flames engulfed her and Malfoy, Hermione couldn't help but think she heard the bespectacled old man mutter to her greasy haired ex Potions master something along the lines of "I told you so," and she wrinkled her nose, puzzled.

"Here we are," grinned Malfoy as he pointed to an archaic floodlight street, with hanging baskets strewn along the buildings face. Restaurants spilled out onto the pavements, jolly, heart-warming music floating out from them as Hermione took it all in. It was beautiful, everything, and she turned to face the blonde who was bathing her in a look of adoration. She turned to him and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him enthusiastically.

"This is beautiful, Draco," she sighed against his neck, sending a tremor of pleasure along his spine, "Thank you."

"No," he corrected her, lifting her chin with one finger so that she looked right into his eyes, "You're beautiful. _Thank You,_" he grinned, "For believing in me."

He brought his lips to hers, in a bubble of their own, as a sense of elation filled Hermione, making her feel as if she could fly.

A cough broke the lovesick duo out of their intimate embrace.

A regal looking blonde woman, who had a slightly upturned nose as if she had the smell of dung under it, was glaring at the couple with what could only be described as shock and confusion.

"Draco?" She questioned, looking quizzically at Hermione.

"Mum," Draco choked, "What are you doing here?"

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**A/N: **So it's a mean little chapter – short and left on a cliff hanger, and I'm sorry… but I'm feeling mean. Tough luck. Predictions/what you think is going to happen would be much appreciated if you don't mind – reviews are always a good motivator ;D – **I'm looking for a Beta for this story. If anyone's interested, send me a PM explaining what you could do for this story. Given that I'm 15 I'm hardly an accomplished editor, and would greatly appreciate someone with experience/skill to give me a hand. Thanks** – Beth :) xx


	43. Pasta, Pasta or More Pasta?

**A/N: **So few things… firstly I know I haven't updated in like ten gazillion years (okay, two weeks, I'm clearly prone to a bit of exaggeration) but I do have some good excuses: **1)** My sisters best friend tried to jump off a building but the Police stopped her just in time. She left my sister a suicide note, and my sister read it, believing she was dead. The friend is now in a psychiatric unit; so there's been lots going on with my sister etc, and I'm sure you can understand I needed to be there for her. **2) **I've been really ill or else I'd have updated a week ago. I couldn't get out of bed least of all write Fan Fiction. **3)** I've had so much school work I thought I was going to suffocate under it. GCSEs suck, seriously. But I've done it all now and I'm all out of excuses. Oh and I had writer's block, which is why this chapter is shocking. Still, least it exists, huh? Please read/review and let me know what you think – Beth xx

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**Pasta, Pasta or More Pasta?**

Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, there was one very angry Ronald Weasley stalking the corridors. How dare Hermione humiliate him like this! To try out for Quidditch trials in the first place, after years of exclaiming she hated the bloody sport was bad enough – but to actually be _good_ at what she did? To take his position like it was nothing; like it wasn't as if being Keeper meant the world to him? It was the lowest of blows, and Ron was fuming – he bet that stupid ferret had more to do with it than Hermione would admit.

Even if Hermione couldn't see it; it was plain to Ron that Draco Malfoy was messing with her. She was going to get her stupid little heart broken, and Ron told himself he wouldn't be there for Hermione when it did happen - she'd hardly been a good friend to him of late. But what could he do to spark revenge? To overcome his humiliation?

Everywhere he went there were sniggers, and whispers – for by now the events that had transpired on the Quidditch pitch earlier that day had been spread across the school like wildfire. Ron had a permanent glower etched into his face, and he wasn't talking to anyone – least of all Harry, for his best friend had betrayed him. It was during one of his intense moping phases by the hearth in the Gryffindor common room that he had an idea. A light-bulb idea so evil and so brilliant, Ron found himself wondering why he had never been placed in Slytherin in the first place.

"Oi Lavendar," Ron yelled, and the girl in question looked up, her nose aloft in the air in a way reminiscent of Narcissa Malfoy.

Clearly, she no longer wished to be associated with the redhead after his embarrassment on the Quidditch pitch, however she would listen to whatever he had to say.

"What?" Her tone was curt, snappy even, and it was clear that she didn't really want to give him the time of day.

"Hermione's pregnant," he slipped in, nonchalantly. "Just thought you might want to know."

"What?!" Lavendar exclaimed, bounding over to sit in the chair next to Ron, so that her face was mere inches from his. "Since when? How do you know?!"

Faltering momentarily – except the ditzy Gossip Queen didn't notice – Ron carried on, "Yeah her and Malfoy have been boinking one another since they were made to share a common room – that's why she wouldn't tell us where their common room was, in case we walked in on them at it. I heard them whispering about whether it was safe for her to try out given her "condition" earlier."

"OMG Ron!" Lavendar exclaimed, laying a large and rather noisy kiss on his cheek; causing them to tinge pink, "You poor thing – don't worry I'll make sure everyone knows and we'll get you reinstated on the team; we can't have a pregnant keeper!"

"Aww no Lavendar," Ron acted, making the most of his abilities, "Don't do that – Hermione would be heartbroken; I can't have everyone finding out about hers and Draco's baby – his Pureblood parents would probably make them get married!"

"OMG!" Lavendar exclaimed, "They are going to have the most adorable babies. Perhaps she'll let me plan the wedding?!" The Gryffindor exclaimed, clapping excitably at this point. "Do you think I should talk to Hermione about it?"

"No," Ron rushed, "I'm sure she'd hate me for letting her secret slip – just tell everyone else and then that saves her from having to break the news to us all herself."

"Oh good idea Won-Won," Lavendar cooed, seating herself in Ron's lap, not noticing his eyes widen in shock. He certainly hadn't been anticipating _this_kind of reaction – then again, you never seemed to know with Lavendar. "I'll go tell Parvati and the others now. You stay right here OK, you poor thing." She pressed her lips to his, and he relaxed into the kiss, unable to help the visible smirked that was forming.

Lavendar proceeded to jump of his lap, run around the Common room and gather all her minions. Once they were all seated in a circle of sorts, speaking in dulcet tones and just-about whispers, there were exclamations of shock – and even a few bets that changed hands. Ron couldn't help but smile smugly to himself as he watched his plan unfold – a Gryffindor bounded out of the common room, intending to go inform the Ravenclaws – soon enough the news of Draco and Hermione's phantom baby would be all around the castle; and if he was convincing enough, then he'd soon get his position back on the team.

Ron chuckled deeply to himself, shaking his head as he thought _I really should have been in Slytherin. I'm wasted here in Gryffindor with these goody-goody two shoes_.

* * *

__Meanwhile, on a small Italian street, Hermione Jean Granger was currently choking under the weight of the awkwardness that engulfed the situation.

In front of her stood none other than Narcissa Malfoy; mother of her secret boyfriend, and the woman in question who had just witnessed an intense make out session. Things couldn't get more awkward, Hermione thought dejectedly to herself, than if Rita Skeeter suddenly appeared and the situation was splayed across the next day's Daily Prophet.

The silence was so think a hippo could wallow in in, and with the tension surmounting, Hermione felt like the weight of Everest was pressing down on her.

Narcissa was the one to break the silence.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Draco?" Her tone was mildly amused – certainly not angry – but Hermione could sense the curiosity in her voice. She suspected Draco wasn't normally a fan of PDA (Public Displays of Affection); especially not when his mother was around to witness it.

Draco seemed dumbfounded, as if he'd entirely loss the ability to talk; so it was with a shaking hand and unsteady voice that Hermione proffered her own hand to the older woman, mumbling, "Hermione Granger, Madame, pleasure to meet you."

Narcissa nodded, smiling kindly at Hermione, and clasping the young witch's hands warmly in her own. "And you, my dear. Would you excuse me, I'd like to have a few words with my son, if that's quite alright."

Hermione nodded, backing away a few metres to be out of hearing distance, resisting the urge to curtsey, and fumbled with a clasp on her bracelet. This was truly excruciating – Hermione had day-dreamed about being introduced properly to Draco's mother, but her visions hadn't even begun to cover the awkwardness of this situation. Hermione wished for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow her hole.

* * *

"Draco?" Narcissa asked kindly, and her son seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he had been enraptured in. He was probably still reeling from the after effects of his and Hermione's kiss. His cheeks tinged pink – something that rarely happened to a Malfoy – as he realised his mother had witnessed the previous moments exchange.

"Sorry, mother," his tone apologetic, he began, "I apologise you had to witness that –"

His mother cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Don't be silly, darling, you look happy. I'm ecstatic for you – just perhaps keep the affection to a minimum when in public, yes?"

He bowed his head meekly, nodding. It had been years since his mother had reprimanded him; for that was usually his father's job. But with his father gone, Draco could see that this entire situation would be a lot easier to handle.

"How long have you two been courting?" His mother inquired politely

"Publically, since today," Draco admitted, "But it's been a good few weeks now."

"I see," Narcissa smiled, "You seem quite smitten with her. I always knew you two would make an enchanting couple – ever since you'd come home at Christmas and spend entire mealtimes slating the girl; I knew there had to be something more than your Father's prejudices spurring you on. You should bring her to stay for Christmas," she dropped in, feigning casualness.

Draco's eyes widened and Hermione watched the exchange with a curious look on her face. "Don't you think that's a bit soon, Mother?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Not at all. We've met now, and she seems to be a delightful young lady – and as I say, you really do seem quite smitten with her. There's no harm in asking her – after all, there is plenty of room at the Manor."

He paused in thought, before nodding, "OK I'll ask her. But don't expect her to say yes – I think the Manor still holds bad memories for her." His eyes darkened with the thought of the previous summer. Back then, the Manor hadn't been a nice place to be for any of them – including his father, who had winced as he had walked from room to room of his once beautiful home. The light was finally returning, though, and perhaps Hermione would accept his mother's invitation. After all, she wasn't a Gryffindor for being cowardly.

"Anyway," His mother smiled softly down at her only son. "I can see you two have things to attend to, so I will leave you."

"It was lovely to meet you, my dear," Narcissa called fondly to Hermione, "That dress is absolutely divine – where's it from?" She enquired conversationally, seeming genuinely interested. Hermione blushed.

"Muggle London, I bought it with my mother before her and my Father left for Australia."

"Australia?" Narcissa seemed perturbed.

Draco butted in, knowing the area was still sensitive for his girlfriend to talk about. "Hermione's parents were obliviated and relocated to Australia for safety during the war. She can't find them in order to reverse the spell."

His mother clapped a hand over her mouth, seemingly horrified. "My dear, that's horrible. I could see if Jared, my private investigator could have a look into it for you?"

Draco cast a look at Hermione, whose eyes had lit up after his mother's suggestion. "Of course, I don't know why I didn't think of that before," he sighed. "What do you think, Hermione?"

"That would be incredible," Hermione spoke softly, turning to Narcissa, "Thank you so much."

"It's the very least I can do, my dear," the older witched smiled, the creases on her forehead making her look her age. "Alas, I must dash – I've got an important meeting to attend to. Have fun, and have a safe journey back to Hogwarts," she smiled.

Draco and Hermione nodded politely, as his Mum turned on the spot, and disaparated.

Hermione let out a breath she didn't even know she had been holding, sighing. Draco laughed as she visibly relaxed, and he drew her close to him, and arm around her waist as they walked down the street.

"Well you survived the meeting the parents part," he laughed, "Fancy some dinner, or have you lost your appetite?"

Hermione smiled. "It wasn't as bad as it could have been. What did she say to you?"

"I'll tell you over dinner," Draco smiled. "So pasta, pasta or more pasta?"

"Pasta sounds good to me," Hermione laughed.


	44. Enlisting Help

**A/N:**So I'm sorry that this chapter sucks oh-so-much; I really am. I hate it more than words can actually describe. In fact, I'm beginning to write hate this entire Fic a lot. This is why I'm going to try and get it finished ASAP so that I don't just end up ruining it and kill everyone off. Eugh, why do I have to lose motivation so near the end, it's not even fair. Don't even bother reviewing this chapter to be honest, I know it sucks *sighs*, apologies – Beth :) xx

* * *

**Enlisting Help**

"So you mean to tell me that Bellatrix Lestrange is still alive?" The stern-faced headmistress of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry was not impressed. Hermione had suspected she wouldn't be, as Draco and she had formulated plans to tell the headmistress upon return to the school, that evening. "Why on earth did you not come to me sooner? I'd have thought you had more sense, Miss Granger!"

It wasn't very often Minerva McGonagall was disappointed by her favourite student of all time – but now was one of these instances. Keeping knowledge of a potential murderer between her and another student was hardly the cleverest thing the bright witch had ever done; still, McGonagall had told herself, at least she was now informed.

"I'm sorry Professor," Hermione wrung her hands, embarrassed. Behind her, Draco stood in the shadows, not having gotten off to the best of starts with the Transfiguration teacher.

"No," the older woman smiled sadly, "It's been and done. I know now at least. The question is, what to do next? Albus," the elderly teacher turned to address the late headmaster's portrait, who immediately jerked out of a snooze – almost as if he had been eavesdropping on the conversation all along.

"Yes Minerva?" Albus' tone was concerned, and the assembled party was confirmed in their suspicion that he had been listening to Hermione recount her discovery of Bellatrix Lestrange's horcruxes, and her destruction of the very same dagger that had killed Dobby.

"What do you think?" McGonagall asked, the worry biting through her professional appearance and making her seem old and fatigued. The portrait shook his head, shrugging.

"It is as I feared. We can only hope that Miss Lestrange was not quite as prudent as Voldemort in the preservation of her soul – I suspect she will only have made two or three horcruxes at most. With her body gone, thanks to Molly Weasley, I suspect she has not found a human counterpart to latch onto – like the Quirrel incidence – and is merely a haunting presence in these dreams of Mr Malfoy," the oil paint Dumbledore smiled, throwing a secret smirk in the direction of Hermione and Malfoy, who were subconsciously touching arms.

"I propose that the best plan of action would be to go through Miss Lestrange's possessions and destroy any dark looking objects that we suspect to be horcruxes. I presume you're aware, Miss Granger, of how to detect when the last Horcrux made by a person is destroyed?"

Head lowered, Hermione meekly shook it – embarrassed not to have the answers to such a dark, complicated area of magic. Dumbledore's portrait merely smiled kindly upon the Gryffindor bookworm. "I suspected not. Not to worry, Miss Granger," he consoled her, "But you have no reason to be concerned with this area of the dark arts – I doubt you did a lot of background reading, before you left with Harry?"

Again she shook her head. There had been Bill and Fleur's wedding, and then the impromptu start to the Horcrux hunt. The few books she had taken had proved useless in relation to providing information about Horcruxes.

"Well when the last fragment of a witch or wizard's soul is destroyed, they lose the very essence that tethers them to this planet. The sensation, that the destroyer experiences is quite bizarre – not dissimilar to the Dementor experience, you feel cold and empty, and relive some of your worst memories. But after that, you are faced with complete blackness – nothingness, even," the painting amended. "After then you know for sure that there are no more horcruxes."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Where are Miss Lestrange's possessions, right now, Mr Malfoy? Do you know?"

Malfoy ran his hand nervously through his blonde hair, "They're in the basement of the manner, and I suspect my Mother has had little to do with them since we received them in her will. Hermione and I could visit the Manor over Christmas and look through it-"

He stopped as he realised he'd essentially just invited Hermione to join him for the festive season at Malfoy Manor, _directly_in front of their head teacher. His cheeks tinged pink, as did Hermione's.

"I meant to tell you over dinner," he continued, "But Mother invited you to come and stay with us over the holidays. What with your parents being in Australia and all I just thought-"

The bushy haired bookworm cut him off with a wry smile. "I'd love to, Draco," her fingers squeezed his affectionately, and warmth coursed through the body of the Slytherin.

"Great," he smiled, as McGonagall watched the scene before her with a look of mock-amusement and curiosity. Dumbledore really had been right, she thought to herself, there wasn't a better match in the entire school that she could fit together in _all_her many years of teaching, than Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Abraxas Malfoy.

"Well then," Professor Dumbledore's portrait smiled, his eyes managing to sparkle in their familiar manner even through the paint, "Arrangements can be made closer to the holidays," he smiled fondly, "Don't let this detract from your Christmas – a time of joy and happiness," he instructed, still smiling, "But in the words of the late Professor Moody – constant vigilance!"

Draco squirmed – evidently uncomfortable at the memory of being turned into a ferret by the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; his girlfriend stood next to him, clapped her hand over her mouth in order to supress a giggle. Shooting her a pointed glare, Malfoy turned to McGonagall.

"Thank you Professor," his tone was genuine and sincere.

Her tight bun bobbed from side to side as the headmistress shook her head. "No," she smiled fondly at the two students in front of her. "Thank _you_Mr Malfoy – Miss Granger and you are a credit to this school. Normally it's Potter I find myself fretting over his discovery of yet another bit of mischief, but it appears that our hero and heroine are right here. Enjoy the rest of the evening," she murmured softly, a knowing edge to her voice.

"Thank you Professor," Hermione muttered as she left the door, taking the winding staircase down to the corridor.

* * *

The second they were out of earshot of the teachers, Hermione giggled. "Your face when he mentioned Moody –"

"Don't you even dare, Granger," Malfoy smirked, grinning as he shoved her up a wall, his lips mere centimetres from hers. "If you so much as mention the ferret thing..." He trailed off, "I still need to get you back for that alcove prank you pulled on me earlier. You look absolutely divine tonight, you know?"

Hermione could feel the colour flooding into her cheeks, in much the same way the blood flooded into Malfoy's groin area as he kissed her, his tongues dancing with hers, duelling for dominance. Before she knew it, she was up against the wall, her dress hitched up a fair amount more than anybody – including Pansy Parkinson – would consider decent. Her moans were heavy as Malfoy trailed kisses up her neck, and a cough jolted them immediately out of their reverie.

Neville stood awkwardly in front of them, his eyes wide as if somewhat spellbound. "Should you guys really be doing that, ahem," he cleared his throat, "You know, in her condition?" He nodded to Hermione's stomach, concern building up in his tone.

"Her condition?" Malfoy's tone was steely.

"Yeah," Neville smiled nervously. "Congratulations by the way – Lavendar told me that Ron said you didn't want people knowing in case we judged you, but I'm not judging you. My Mum had me really young," he offered by means of explanation.

Hermione scoffed. "Wait, you don't think I'm pregnant, do you, Neville?" Hysteria was rising in her voice.

Scratching the back of his head nervously, Neville nodded. "Ron said you were."

"Oh he did, did he?" Snarled Malfoy, his fists already tensing by his side. "Well I'm sick of that bloody git – can't he just be happy for Hermione? I love her to pieces and I'm not having him spread shit about her. He's got it coming to him!" Malfoy snarled as he prised himself off Hermione regretfully, and stalked down the corridors on his way down to the communal common room where Moaning Myrtle's bathroom used to be.

Hermione sighed, feeling a sudden urge to bash her head against the wall. It was funny how easily that blasted redhead managed to ruin an otherwise perfect evening in Italy. She sighed and chased after her boyfriend; for this was going to be anything but pretty…


	45. Bets Are Collected & Walls Aren't Dented

**Bets Are Collected & Walls Are Not Dented**

"Uh-oh," Seamus exclaimed, "Malfoy's heading this way, and he's looking pretty murderous."

Ron's head snapped up from the game of wizard chess that he had been playing, and he jumped to his feet, striding towards the advancing Slytherin in an attempt to look tough.

"Whaddya want, Malfoy?" He spat, his distaste for the blonde evident from his tone of voice.

"I want you to get the fuck away from me and never speak to me or Hermione ever again, that's what," the Slytherin snarled. "How dare you tell people that she's pregnant and that we've been at it like rabbits just because we share a Common Room. She's my girlfriend, not a piece of meat, and for your information, we haven't had sex. If we had, it would be none of your business anyway. I'd have thought you'd have been a better friend to Hermione, after all the times she's saved your sorry ass over the years. But I guess not," Malfoy shrugged, before promptly socking Ron in the nose, so that he yelled out in pain.

"Is that true?" Harry asked, getting the wrong end of the stick. "Hermione, you're pregnant?"  
"NO!" The Gryffindor bookworm shrieked, yelling out to the entire Common Room. "I am NOT pregnant, I have NOT slept with Malfoy, and Ronald Weasley is a lying TWAT!"

To add insult to injury, Hermione smacked Ron right across the face, the noise reverberating across the Common Room and drawing everyone into a hushed silence.

"I'm absolutely sick of you Ronald Weasley; you're immature and pathetic and blind with hatred – Malfoy's a far nicer person than you've been of late, and he also happens to be my boyfriend. You know why? Because I _love _him. And he loves me. And if you've got a problem with that well then take it up with me and don't tell pathetic lies about people."

"Wait," Ginny butted in, "Ron told everyone you were pregnant with Malfoy?" Hermione nodded, her fists clenched in anger.

"You're such a dick Ron," Ginny rolled her eyes, disgusted. Lavendar was regarding Ron with contempt – he'd lied to her, and made her look like a fool in front of all her classmates. "But pay up."

"Sorry what?" Hermione asked, bemused.

"You owe me. You said you'd never fall in love with Malfoy, we made a bet, remember?" Ginny smirked, holding out her hand expectantly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, handing over the money without complaint – for she knew how stubborn the redheaded witch could be (and the last thing Hermione wanted was to be on the receiving end of her bat bogey hex) – and laughed. "I guess you've got a gift of foreshadowing that would give Professor Trelawney a run for her money, Ginny."

"Wait," Malfoy laughed, "So you genuinely thought you'd never fall in love with me?"

Hermione shrugged sheepishly.

"When was this?" He was curious.

"Oh before the Halloween dance," she laughed, "So don't you fret."

"I wasn't," he shrugged, smiling at her. The rest of the common room was still watching their exchange, curious.

"Well thanks for the money, 'Mione," Ginny smirked, backing off.

"So you've fallen in love with me huh?" Malfoy grinned, the words tasting great on his tongue, as he milked in front of the audience to which he was very much aware of.

"Hook line and sinker, like you knew I would," Hermione grinned as she reached up on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his mouth.

Forgetting that they were being watched, Hermione melded under his embrace, allowing him to draw her to him, his hands tracing patterns on the small of her back burning under his touch.

A wolf-whistle broke the spell, and Hermione pulled away from Malfoy, her cheeks magenta and her head hung, embarrassed. Slowly but steadily, people began to applaud, smiling as they watched the embrace of two of the least likely members of a couple. But it's the unexpected couples that are the best – whilst at first they may seem like pieces of two different puzzles, quite often they'll slot together seamlessly…

Walking back to their shared Common room, hands entwined without caring who saw, Malfoy chuckled, "I still cannot believe you made a bet about the fact that you wouldn't fall in love with me."

Hermione laughed, "Well I paid up, did I not."

"True," Malfoy chuckled, "Speaking of which, Peeves owes me one."

Hermione looked at the blonde quizzically.

"I made a bet with him that I could make you fall in love with me – now he has to haunt Pansy Parkinson for the rest of her life, once we leave school," he grinned wickedly, seeing nothing wrong with his admission.

Hermione stopped short.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy asked, confused, as he regarded Hermione with worry – anger was suddenly evident in her features.

"You made a bet with Peeves that you could _make_ me fall in love with you? Wow… aren't you the romantic…"

She stormed off ahead of him, ignoring his attempts to explain, "Whatever Malfoy," she remarked coldly, "I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Let go of my arm." Knowing there was no reckoning with her, he dropped her wrist, allowing her to shut herself away in her room.

"Hermione it was just a joke!"

"Well funny thing is, I didn't think our relationship was a joke up until now," Hermione shouted from the other side of her door, her voice cracking with the weight of her tears which were threatening to spill themselves down our cheek.

"No that's not what I meant!" There was a resounding crunch as Malfoy punched the wall in anger, then a groan, and the gentle sound of masculine tears. Hermione swung her door open, to find Malfoy crouched on the floor, nursing a shattered fist.

"What did you mean?" She asked softly.

"I love you, Hermione, please don't think otherwise," Malfoy looked up at her, saltwater decorating his pale eyelashes.

"Did you just punch the wall?" She hastily changed the subject.

He nodded, and she rolled her eyes.

"You're such an idiot, you know."

"I know," he smiled sadly. "Please believe me, Hermione."

"I do, I just overreacted, that's all." She sighed. "Give me your hand." She held her wand to it gently, and steadily, with a wince of pain, the ligaments re-knit themselves.

"You're a blithering idiot and I'm an over-reactive fool. We're well suited," she smiled wryly. "I love you."

"I love you too," Malfoy beamed, relieved, as he rested his head against the wall, wincing at the sensation in his hand, as it repaired itself.

"I still can't believe you punched the wall, though," Hermione laughed, and Malfoy joined her, their merriment bouncing off the walls of their quarters, until silence fell as Hermione brushed her lips against his, soothing his throbbing hand and quelling the turmoil of the evening…


End file.
